


beginners

by possibilist



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3204878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possibilist/pseuds/possibilist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>korra and asami at university, or: asami is a little bit of a lonely genius and korra is a bad ass soccer player, and sometimes terrible things happen, but they're really very in love with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tonight the city is glimmered (an august monsoon is heat & wet)

**Author's Note:**

> chapter 1, or: korra & asami meet, and they're really already kind of gross. also, jinora is a brilliantly kind human being.

**tonight the city is glimmered (an august monsoon is heat & wet)**

**//**

All you want to do right now is take a nap. 

You’ve had 5:30 am practices for a week, and you’re exhausted—between those and how hard you’re having to work at Calc II, you don’t even want to bother walking back to your dorm when you can just nap in one of the big empty lecture halls they leave unlocked in the Bio building.

Despite the fact that you’re so tired, you really like it here: it’s way bigger than your old school, and your teammates are pretty cool; you’ve made some good friends in your Western Civ class already.

But you  _are_ tired, even if it’s a good place to be, and so you heft open the large door silently and almost just go straight to the back of the classroom, but then you’re caught off guard by the sound of someone writing on the blackboard, almost frantically.

You pause in the doorway, and you almost just leave, because you really do kind of want to sleep and you don’t want to interrupt whomever’s working, but then you glance just for a second—your mother’s always said you were naturally curious—and then you’re a little mesmerized, almost immediately: there’s a girl, maybe a few inches taller than you, about your age, scribbling frantically with her left hand. 

She’s wearing huge headphones and black cutoff shorts that show a  _lot_ of her long legs—stretches of pale skin—and black ankle boots. When she stretches up to write more to—an equation?, you’re not sure—you see a watercolor tattoo of some kind of flower on her ribs through the slit in her maroon muscle tank. She has an undercut and long, shiny, wavy black hair, and— _wow_.

You’re in a plain blue v-neck from Gap, a pair of denim shorts, and a tan cardigan, your oldest pair of tan TOMS, your brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and you immediately feel a blush creep up to your cheeks. 

You really  _shouldn’t_ watch her—it’s kind of creepy—but she’s  _beautiful_ , and you take a little time to try to understand what’s on the board, which, as far as you can tell, are about four anatomically sketched versions of human hearts and a few arrows and a  _lot_ of numbers. She rushes to write everything down, you think, frowning when she smudges a little bit with the outside of her hand, but then she stands back for a few moments, reads over things, and breaks out into a grin, goes back to the board and writes a  _lot_ of numbers really quickly. She’s engrossed in her work and you can hear a little tinny noise from her headphones, so you know she can’t hear you, and she definitely hasn’t seen you, and you should  _really_ leave now, but you can’t.

And then you can’t help but break into a grin, because she tosses down the chalk and claps her hands once, then actually  _hops_ up and down once. You laugh without meaning to, and finally she sort of turns to you, and— _oh_.

She’s scowling and blushing a little bit, but she has pale green eyes and she’s wearing red lipstick.

She pulls her headphones down to rest along her neck and you step a little further into the lecture hall, and she walks up to you a bit.

“Were you watching me?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, well”— _yes_ —“I came in here to, uh, do some reading, but then you were working, and I— _so_ , what are you working on?”

Her mouth pulls into a reluctant smile, but then she says, “You wouldn’t understand.”

It makes you bristle. People have judged you for  _years_  because of your skin, because of where you come from. “Why do you say that?”

She shakes her head at your tone, eyes wide. “No, I didn’t mean that—I just, no one really is too interested unless you’re getting your PhD in biomedical engineering, which—you’re not in my program, so.” She smiles sincerely. “Although one day, if you want, you could!”

You leave your arms crossed because you’re still not  _sure_ if she’s being patronizing or not. “You’re getting your PhD?”

She nods, looks down to fiddle with her watch. “Yeah, I—um, am a little ahead in school.”

She’s shy about it, and you end up grinning. “That’s cool,” you say, and she breathes a little sigh of relief. “Is what you’re working on really that boring?”

She shakes her head. “It’s actually  _really_  cool, but—you said you had some reading?”

You scratch your forehead. “Uh, I was coming to take a nap in here, actually,” you admit.

She laughs, and it’s kind of wonderful. “I’m Asami,” she says, sticking out her hand.

It clicks. “Asami, as in, Asami  _Sato_?”

She sighs, takes her hand away from your firm grip, and you frown. “The one and only.”

You can tell she seems sad and uncomfortable, but—really, her dad is like, the richest man in the world.

But: you stick your hand out again. “I’m Korra,” you say.

She smiles gratefully, gives your hand a shake, lingering a little bit. “It’s nice to meet you, Korra.”

“Likewise.”

“Even if you were stalking me.”

You laugh. “I was not.”

She glances down at her watch and then says, “Hey, I have to go soon, sorry.”

You don’t know  _why_ you do this, but you say, “I’m pre-vet, and I—you do math, right?”

She nods toward the completely covered boards with a gentle smile. “I do math, yes.”

You rub at the back of your neck. “My schedule’s kind of shitty, but, I could use some help in Calc II, if you—you know, wanted to do that?” You keep talking because she didn’t say yes. “I’m in scholarship, but it’s not, like, a  _lot_ of money, so I don’t think I can pay you, and I get it if you’re too busy, because—you’re getting a PhD, and like, you probably have a lot of friends—”

She frowns a little but then she cuts you off, “Korra.”

You take a deep breath while she takes her phone out of her back pocket, opens it, and then hands it to you. “I’m free tomorrow evening, if that works for you.”

You look down and her phone is open to the New Contact screen, and you grin. 

You put in your name and number while you say, “Yeah, yes that works for me, yeah, I have practice until six but yeah, any time after that, that works.”

You hand it back to her and she says, “You play soccer, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, “how did you—”

She walks toward her bag and starts gathering a few things, sticks a pair of sunglasses on the top of her head.  “I’m not the only one with a small following around here, you know.”

“I  _don’t—_ ”

She grins. “I’ll text you later. Nice to meet you, Korra.”

She brushes by you. “You too, Asami.”

///

You don’t know  _why_ you’re stressing, because you’d only talked to Korra for exactly seven minutes yesterday, and you actually  _did_ want to help her with Calc II—you’ve loved Taylor Series since you were thirteen, after all—but you’re kind of lonely sometimes, and you just generally think she might be a cool person. Hopefully.

So you feel a little thrill when your phone buzzes.

**Korra (7:42 pm):** _Hey I’m on my way back to my dorm and then I’ll head to the coffee shop so I’ll see you soon!! :)_

You smile and straighten some of the notes you’d laid out on the coffee table in front of you; you have a meticulous but somewhat unorthodox way of saving notes, and these are from when you were fifteen, but you figure they’ll be helpful still—Calc II hasn’t really changed.

Korra lives in the dorms with other athletes, and they’re about ten minutes away from your favorite coffee shop in campus, so you figure she should be here in twelve to fourteen minutes, judging from your calculations. Sometimes you do them for fun when you’re a little nervous or upset; you have since you were six, kind of absentmindedly now, it’s become your habit.

You’re in your favorite black ankle boots and a pair of black skinny jeans, an oversized gray t-shirt that you bunch up around your shoulders, a maroon scarf—you’re by the ocean, so the weather is a little mercurial sometimes, and it’s always better to be prepared.

Korra you put on your headphones again when the six minute mark hits, and you listen aimlessly to some Blackbird Blackbird until fifteen minutes have passed. You’re starting to feel a little sad as another minute ticks by—undergrad in Republic City wasn’t the most enjoyable experience for you, because you were younger than most people, and it was hard to still live at home with your dad and make close friends, and talking about sex a lot with people isn’t your favorite thing to do, mostly because it’s completely boring, so friends weren’t the easiest to come by.

You’re almost about to start picking your stuff up when the door opens and Korra rushes in with a smile.

Her hair is a little damp and it’s long and wavy, and part of it is tucked into a big beanie, and she’s in jeans and a t-shirt, and you think you can see that she has actual abs, which is pretty impressive. Her backpack is hanging open and theres a notebook shoved in there as well as a large textbook, and she plops down on the couch next to you and says, “I’m so sorry that took longer than I meant—I had to take a shower, because I’d just finished practice and—yeah, I didn’t want to gross you out or anything.”

You let out a breath and say, “It’s totally fine, I don’t have other plans tonight. Just math.”

She groans with a little nudge to your shoulder and puts down her textbook on the coffee table with a pout.

“Do you want coffee? Or food or something? Have you eaten dinner?”

She eyes your espresso—you make a mental note to order tea next time, because your heart is beating a little fast—and says, “No, I’m okay, don’t worry about it.”  

She seems a little uncomfortable, and you say, “They have really great oat bran muffins, we can share if you want.”

She smiles a little and your chest feels warm. “Oat bran?”

“Yeah, they’re—you know clean eating?”

She throws her head back in a real laugh. “Asami,” she says, “I basically run on pasta and whatever decent-looking meat the cafeteria serves each day.”

You grin and say, “Wait here,” and stand to order a muffin—they actually are really good—and you get Korra some sweet vanilla mocha iced thing your favorite barista, Maribel, recommends. You go sit back down and Korra’s getting out a graphing calculator that has certainly seen better days, so you rifle around in your oversized tote and grab yours too.

“So,” you say, “what are you guys working on?”

She points to some functions in her textbook and actually looks sort of interested. “It’s not that hard,” she says, “it’s just that my class is at 8 am, and my professor kind of talks at the board the whole time and we don’t get to ask questions.”

You laugh. “Math professors.”

Korra smiles and you scoot a little closer so that you can look at her notes.

Maribel brings your muffin and Korra’s drink, and you say, “If you don’t like that, feel free to immediately throw it away.”

She smiles as she puts her lips around the straw and then  _really_ smiles when she takes a sip. “That’s  _awesome_.”

You grin. “Good.”

You cut the muffin in half and break off a little bite while Korra turns back to her notes, and then you flip back to a page in your notebook to find some similar examples of yours—because, honestly, this textbook isn’t exactly  _clear_ —and Korra looks at your notes for a second before saying, “You do math in  _pen_?”

“Um, yeah.” You break off another bite of muffin and let your hair hide your face, and she looks at you critically for a moment before shoving about half of her portion into her mouth.

“That’s pretty impressive,” she says around half-chewed food.

You smile again—Korra’s an easy person to be with, as it turns out, and it’s nice.

“Also—these muffins are  _okay_ , but, Asami,  _chocolate chip muffins_ —how are those not your favorites?”

You laugh and shake your head, then point toward and equation. She scoots closer to you and your legs bump.

She doesn’t move away once, and her hands, when she writes in her slightly-messy handwriting in pencil on her graph paper, are rough and calloused, and you wonder where she’s from, why she’s here.

You walk her through a few equations, and then she grins when she gets the fourth perfectly on her own.

“Let’s do another one!” She looks at you enthusiastically.

“See,” you say, “I told you math isn’t that bad.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, you have a lot longer to prove that.”

“Deal.”

She eats another huge bite of muffin and you turn the page.

//

**Korra (5:14 am):**   _Hey, thanks for the help again, class was way easier this morning_

**Asami (7:46 am):**   _not a problem :) i actually do like math_

**Korra (9:30 am):**   _Weirdo_

**Korra (9:30 am):**   _Also good morning!!!_

**Asami (9:31 am):**   _good morning to you too_

**Korra (10:22 am):**   _And thanks for the coffee and the muffin although I definitely think we need to add some more chocolate chips to your diet_

**Asami (10:27 am):**   _that’s probably a fair assessment lol_

//

You text a lot, and it’s mostly funny stuff and sometimes songs; Asami listens to really interesting music that she sends you, and usually you just listen to whatever’s on the radio, so you like that she thinks of you. You tell her about your other classes, too, and she texts back pretty frequently, and sometimes you worry you’re bothering her, but she always responds, and you’re just glad. You’ve made some other friends, but Asami matters to you a lot.

And then she invites you to lunch later that week—which is good, because you have  _no_ idea how to go about this; at your best you’re funny, at your worst your almost painfully awkward—and you have to take a few seconds to compose yourself when you see her.

It’s warm today, sunny and lovely, and she’s sitting on the little outside patio of the restaurant near campus she’d told you to come to, and she’s wearing aviators and the breeze is pushing little bits of her hair around. She looks  _cool_ , too, which is something you’ve never really understood how people can do, but part of her head is shaved and she kind of slouches a lot sometimes, and she still looks like she walked out of a shampoo commercial or something. She’s Asami Sato, though, but she’s not like what you’d have ever expected from what you’d known about her. She has a skirt on today, some black floaty thing, and this t-shirt with the arms cut off that shows part of a lacy bra underneath, and you see her tattoo of a chrysanthemum, you think, again. 

She grins when she sees you, and you sling your bag down and tug a little on the sleeves of your cardigan; if you actually cared about the fact that you only owned three of them, you might be embarrassed, but you try not to let stuff like that get to you.

“Hi,” she says, then gestures to the plate of food already on the table. “I got us some pita and hummus, if you like that.”

You nod—you’re not about to tell her that you have no idea what  _hummus_ is, but at least the pita looks pretty good—and watch as she rips off a little bit of the pita and dips it in the hummus before you do the same.

“And sorry about the short notice,” she says, dabbing at her lips with a napkin. “I was going to guest lecture but the class got cancelled, so I have a few hours to kill.”

You process the fact that she guest lectures, and also the fact that she says it like it’s nothing, and you really like that about her, you think. If you’re telling the truth you really like everything about her you’ve learned so far, but whatever. “That’s okay,” you say, “I don’t have any other classes today, and practice is supposed to be light tonight.”

She smiles. “Awesome.” 

You smile and take another bite of hummus. “This is good.”

She nods. “It’s also healthy for you, which, you know, is good.”

You laugh and she pushes a menu in your direction and then picks hers up.

You take a few seconds to glance over her up close while she’s studying it with a look of really focused concentration, and it’s  _cute._ She has another tattoo that you notice just now when she runs a hand through her hair for a second; it’s on the underside of her upper right arm, and all it says is  _Dear Forgiveness,_ in pretty, simple font.

You don’t ask—you know not to ask about things like that—and you look down at your menu quickly when she glances up at you. Apparently this is a Greek restaurant, and you’ve never had this before, and Asami seems to sense this.

“You’re not vegetarian, are you?”

You pull a face. “Oh, fuck no.”

She laughs. “You might like the gyros then.” She reaches over and points to a little picture on the menu of something that looks like a substantial amount of meat. “Also, this is my treat, because I asked you. You’ll pay for the next time we go out.”

Your face flushes a little, but you say, “So there’s gonna be a next time?”

Asami actually looks a little flustered, and you grin. “Well—I mean, if you—”

“Next time sounds good, Asami.”

She smiles and slumps back in her chair, and you’re a little disappointed, because she smells like spring the breeze and flowers and a little like smoke, and it was nice. 

Your waiter comes and takes your order—Asami gets something that just  _sounds_ healthy, and you order the gyros because you hadn’t really even looked over anything else.

When they take your menus away, Asami folds her hands on the top of the table and asks, “So, how was Calc this morning?”

You don’t say anything about the fact that she apparently knows your class schedule. “Well, now that someone’s actually explaining things to me, it’s a lot less awful.”

She laughs and you grin.

“What were you going to lecture, by the way?”

“Um—so, I design hearts, right?”

You nod—it’s one of your favorite things about her.

“So this was for the medical school, just some stuff about advancing technology and engineering and medicine.”

“That’s so cool that you do that.”

She glances down and picks at her nails. 

“I mean, like—your dad designs cars and stuff, right?”

She nods and meets your eyes again, and you have to take a deep breath, because something tugs at your stomach when you look at how  _green_ hers are.

“So—uh, you could’ve done that, yeah? Inherited the family business and everything?”

She smiles a little—it’s sad; you know sad smiles—and says, “I could’ve, yes. Mechanical engineering and design are quite useful.”

“So why didn’t you?”

She bites her bottom lip and takes a deep breath, then lets it out. “I’m hoping Sato Industries will expand to move onto biomedical technology.”

It’s not  _not_ an answer, but you’re pretty sure that’s not at all what she really means. But—“That’s cool,” you say. “You’ll run that, right?”

Her smile reaches her eyes this time. “Yeah, I will.”

“That’s so cool—I mean, I think I’ll probably play soccer for a while, or, you know, I hope I will; the U-18 World Cup was really fun—”

She grins and sits back; you don’t often talk about that, because girls at your old school were kind of shitty about being jealous, but you’re pretty sure Asami has  _nothing_ to be jealous of you for.

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah, so, you know, hopefully I’ll at least get to play in the U-21s, or maybe even make the roster for the actual one, and the Olympics too, and that means I have to get sponsors and train a lot and all of that stuff.”

“But you love it, right?”

She’s very earnestly concerned, and you smile and lean toward her a little. “Yeah, it’s one of my very favorite things in the world.”

“Good,” she says. “I don’t know any other professional athletes, so this is excellent networking for me.”

You boom a laugh, and it’s louder than you mean for it to be, and you look around quickly because a few people are looking at you.

Asami just sticks her sunglasses back on and grins. 

Your waiter brings your food and the gyros are  _amazing_ , which you try to tell her as gracefully as possible, but you still end up spilling sauce kind of everywhere and have to eat a few pieces of the meat with your hands because they fell out, but Asami seems to not care at all while she eats some very green mix of vegetables and some kind of fish incredibly neatly. She eats about three quarters of it and then sets the rest aside, thanks the waiter politely and genuinely when he asks if she wants it boxed up.

You don’t really eat out often—or, like, at all, because your budget basically allows for ramen—but you never go to places that put your food in to-go boxes  _for_ you.

Asami catches you staring at her, which apparently you were doing, and her eyes are wide when she asks, “Do I have something on my face or—”

“No,” you say, “your face is perfect.” You cringe internally at that one but keep talking. “Sometimes I just, you know, forget that you’re, like  _Asami Sato_.”

She looks confused.

You shake your head and sit back, wipe your hands as best you can on your napkin. “Not that I forget who you are or anything, just, like, sometimes people I play soccer with, like, girls or coaches or whatever—they know me, they know who I am before I start playing, and it changes how they play around me, or with me, or even against me, I guess.”

She fidgets with her hands but nods a little.

“Like, they know about me, Korra, who plays soccer, who everyone expects these really important things from when I’m playing—control the game, communicate, organize, defend, score, all of that stuff—but like, not too many people I play with know me as just, like, Korra.”

A little bit of understanding dawns on her face.

“So I know, like—we don’t know each other that well or anything,” you say, “but sometimes, you’re just helping me with my math, or we’re texting about, like, Gilmore Girls or something, and it’s like—you’re just Asami.”

She stares a little and you have  _no idea_ if what you said was completely offensive or something. 

“Does that make sense?”

She nods, then swallows. “Yeah,” she says, “that makes sense.”

You change the subject to talking about something funny your Intro to Bio prof said earlier about drosophila, and Asami laughs warmly with you, and when the waiter brings the check you watch her put down what you’re sure is  _way_ too much money, and then grab her box of leftovers and stand. She stretches a little and you have to look away, smooth out your shorts.

“Well,” she says, “that was much better than talking about the possibilities of synthetic skin for two hours, I have to say, which means you’re pretty great company, Korra, because I actually really like talking about synthetic skin.”

You laugh and it’s so natural to lean forward and give her a hug. She stiffens for such a short amount of time you don’t know if you just imagined it or not, but then she wraps her arms around your shoulders and it’s a really,  _really_ great hug.

She smiles when you step back, and she grabs the huge leather purse she carries around and slings it over her shoulder, then says, “Text me later if you want.”

“I will,” you say. “And Asami?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for lunch.”

//

You flop down on Jinora’s bed, fresh out of the shower after practice, and you laugh a little when she doesn’t move at all from where she’s reading at her desk.

“She’s  _gorgeous_ ,” you say. “Like, really,  _really_ , beautiful.”

Jinora hums.

You take a deep breath and think about Asami, really think about her long hair that should probably be in a shampoo ad or something, how she’d comb it over her shoulder when she was waiting for you to work through a math problem. You think about how when she stretched at lunch the other day you could see the outline of her ribs, the lace of her bra; you think about her long legs and her light skin and her bright eyes, the way her laugh lilts, how her perfume is kind of totally magic. 

And then you think of how she seemed sad sometimes, and how she designs things to help individual people instead of building cars like her dad; you think of how patient she is when she’s helping you with your math (and how your grades have dramatically shot up), how she looks really proud when you get a problem right all on your own, how she gave you a really tight hug when you showed her your last exam—you got a 92, the highest in the class—and seemed maybe even more excited than you were, how you’re pretty sure she overtips outrageously whenever you go out.

“No,” you say, sitting up, “she’s like—Jinora, I—”

Jinora puts down her book with a small sigh and turns toward you. 

You keep thinking of Asami’s hands. “I think I— _like_ her?”

Jinora smiles softly. “Well that’s good.”

“Well, yeah, but—what does that mean?”

Jinora grins. “What do you think it means?”

“Um, well, I don’t  _not_ like boys, I mean, yeah, boys are fine.”

Jinora nods.

“But I think—if she wanted to back, I’d like to kiss Asami.”

Your cheeks burn red when you say it aloud. You don’t really know  _why_ ; your parents had never made a big deal out of sexuality, mostly because it was viewed really differently in your native culture, so you know they wouldn’t care. 

Jinora moves from her chair to the bed softly and smoothly, like she always does, and she stays quiet but takes your hand.

“I’ve—I guess I’ve thought girls were pretty in the ‘I might want to kiss them’ way too, now that I look back on things.”

Jinora says, “That’s perfectly understandable.”

It makes you laugh a little and she grins. “So that means I’m, what, bisexual?”

“It can,” Jinora says, scooting back and crossing her legs. You do the same. “It’s totally, totally great if you feel like that term fits for you, first of all. There’s also stuff like pansexual, which means you like people of many genders, but, just so you know, bisexual doesn’t mean a binary necessarily.”

You’re still learning about all of this, but you nod. “It’s okay if I—I like bisexual?”

Jinora grins and pats your hand. “Bisexual is  _awesome_ , Korra. If it fits for you, then that’s fantastic.”

You nod—Jinora is from Air Temple Island, which is super progressive and awesome, and even in a few weeks she’s taught you so much. Her boyfriend, Kai, is (you’ve worked hard to remember the right terms, even written them down and read about them on the internet after Jinora had talked to you) ftm trans, and he takes testosterone to help him transition. He’d been really patient and cool explaining it all to you, and it made a ton of sense really quickly, because you can totally see how gender is a social thing.

Briefly you kind of think about how Asami must be so educated in all of this, because she’s from Republic City, which is one of the coolest places in the world, you think, even though you’ve never actually been there.

“Also,” Jinora continues, “there’s a difference between sexual attraction and romantic attraction.”

You nod.

“So, you think boys and girls are attractive and you would want to maybe have sex with them under consensual circumstances you were comfortable with, right?”

“Yeah.”

Jinora looks really pleased at how easily you answered; it feels  _good_ , though, to be able to understand parts of yourself that have felt a little confusing for a few years, because you were kind of around girls changing their clothes  _all the time_ , and you’d  _never_ do anything—you have a hard enough time formulating conversation with people when they’re fully-dressed—but it still didn’t always make sense to you, but now it does a lot more.

“Great,” she says, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “And—you dated Mako in high school, and you had romantic feelings for him, right?”

“I guess?”

“Different from how you felt about your friends?”

“Yeah,” you say, “yeah, I did.”

“Cool,” she says. “But—with Asami, do you feel the same about her than you do about, like, me or Opal?”

“Definitely not.”

“So there’s the same kind of stuff for romantic orientation as their is sexual orientation.” Jinora waves her hands around. “Panromantic, biromantic, aromantic, lots of stuff like that. And if it helps you to know this too, you know—”

“I’m biromantic too?”

Jinora laughs. “If that feels like it fits for you and helps you understand stuff, sure! But you know, only you can define yourself, and it can change, all of that good stuff, of course.”

“Yeah,” you say. “But—okay. Okay. Bisexual and biromantic.”

Jinora launches forward in a gentle hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she says.

“Thank you,” you say. It’s not the first time you’ve thought that you got really lucky when Jinora got placed as your roommate, but you feel  _especially_ lucky right now.

“You’re welcome, Korra.”

There’s a knock just as Jinora is about to go back to reading, and you look at your phone—there are a few missed texts from your friends and one from Asami, which you’ll look at later. “Sorry, that’s Bolin and Opal, they’re here to study for our English 102 quiz, but—I can tell them to leave or we can go somewhere else.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I was just reading for fun.”

You smile at her and then open the door, and immediately Bolin wraps you in a hug. “Hi, Bolin,” you say, and you laugh as he spins you around.

Opal rolls her eyes and gives you a hug too after Bolin finally puts you down. 

“How are you guys?”

“Ready to ace this quiz!” Bolin says.

“Also known as over-caffeinated,” Opal says, getting out her laptop.

They say hi to Jinora, who puts in headphones and leans back on her bed while you situate yourselves on the bed, Bolin in the floor. 

Opal starts pulling up the syllabus with practice questions on it, and all of a sudden, you really want to tell them, because they’re some of your best friends here, and it feels like a really great thing to know about yourself.

“So,” you say.

They both look to you expectantly when you don’t say anything.

You take a deep breath. “I’m bisexual,” you say, “and—uh, biromantic, too.”

Bolin springs to his feet as Opal says, “That’s great,” and you catch Jinora grinning before she goes back to her book before Bolin almost  _tackles_ you in a hug.

“Opal’s right—”

“—as always—“

“—that is  _totally_ great!” Bolin ruffles your hair when he lets you go. “Because I’m pansexual, and Opal just doesn’t really identify as anything, but anyway, we go to LGBTQIA+ events all the time on campus, they’re super great.” He frowns for a second, and then hurriedly says, “If you wanted to come, I mean—we won't tell, of course, if you don’t want to be out or just told us or something.”

You squeeze his arm with a smile—he and Opal are really awesome, and you’re glad they’re your friends too. “That sounds totally great, Bolin. Thanks.”

“Yeah! And there are tons of great people there, too, if you wanted us to introduce you or whatever.”

You can’t help your smile, and you think of Asami. You have no idea what she thinks of you, but you’re more than willing to give it some time. “I’d love to meet  _friends_ , but, um, I might be interested in someone else. Or—I like her, and I guess I’m just going to wait and see how it goes.”

He nods with a grin, and Opal kisses him on the cheek really quickly, and then she starts reading practice questions like nothing’s really changed.

And, you think, in the best way: it really hasn’t.

//

Tenzin is calmly shouting something which you  _think_ is encouraging toward you, but you just did a header and you’re exhausted, so everything is buzzing a little bit, but you make your final run to the corner flag and hold off the defender trying to take the ball away. There’s one minute of stoppage time left in your first game—you’re winning handily, 3-0, and you’d had one assist and one goal—and you’re just riding out the final seconds, rolling the ball carefully under your foot, letting your legs carry you like you’ve grown so used to, and then the whistle blows.

You immediately relax and shake the hand of the girl you were playing against, who tells you some form of congratulations pretty sincerely, you think.

You’re a first year, so you’re kind of a big deal, and you walk toward the halfline, shaking hands with people and wiping your face on the bottom of your jersey. You can already feel a knot forming on your ribs—you’d gotten elbowed pretty hard at some point—but your gladly lean into easy embraces from your teammates.

Tenzin hugs you to his chest and pats your back. “Fantastic game, Korra.”

“Thanks, Tenzin,” you say, and it means a lot to you, because you like Tenzin better than the coaches at your high school for sure, even if he’s a little strict and has some weird methods for stretching that feel an  _awful_  lot like you have to do yoga twice a week, but you’ve never been playing better, so you try to get into it. Or at least pretend.

You sit down and drink some gatorade while the fanfare dies out—thankfully, no people from the newspaper have come and tried to talk to you today, even though you don’t mind when they do, this game had just been a  _lot_ of running; you like when you play a 4-3-3, but you’re sure it’s a couple of extra kilometers for you.

But eventually it’s time to go into the locker room, and you grab your bag and head in. You love the way it smells, how your cleats sound against the cement floor, how they’ve always been the places in the world that make you feel at home, like you can do something  _powerful—_ with your body, with your brain.

Tenzin gives a speech about focus and perseverance and  _graceful football_ , and you smile and only half pay attention, because you’re just really happy; a lot of universities had offered you scholarships, but you’d really wanted to play for Tenzin, and the year’s already turning out to be great for the most part, even though you miss your parents.

After Tenzin is done, you let Lin, one of your fitness trainers, take a look at your ribs, because apparently she’d noticed you flinching in the “final 48 seconds,” or so she said. 

You take your jersey off and lift your arm, and there’s a little bruise forming, but nothing too bad. She presses surprisingly gentle fingers along your ribs and nods with a satisfied expression.

“Nothing’s broken,” she says.

“Cool.”

She claps you on the back. “Tough tattoo, kid, by the way,” she says before walking off to check on someone else, you assume.

“Thanks,” you say, and then you smile a little, because—yeah,  _maybe_ it’d been a brash decision to decide on a full back tattoo of Raava when you were 16 in a little under 24 minutes, but you’re proud of where you’re from and you still really like the way it looks, how the ink almost moves with your muscles. Plus you can only see it when you have your shirt off, so it’s not really controversial or anything. You stuff everything in your bag as successfully as possible—it  _almost_ closes, so that’s good enough.

//

You trace the tattoo on your right hip absentmindedly—it’s a sketch of a humanoid you’d done when you were fifteen, and you’d kept it around for a while; something about it has felt comforting, and you’d gotten it kind of on a whim a few weeks ago, so it’s finally pretty much healed—and then stare at the diagrams you’ve tacked up on one of your chalkboards. Your dissertation is already coming along nicely—and you really do like Varick and Zhu Li, or, really, you love Zhu Li and tolerate Varick because he’s brilliant but also because, unfortunately, Zhu Li seems to really care for him.

But what you don’t ever really tell anyone—which may be part of the problem—is that being  _Asami Sato_  is lonely. People want to know you because of your money, or because of your brain in the sense of the technical things it can do, or because you're the kind of beautiful that can sell magazines. You’ve never really resented these things in any inherent way, because they’re just things about you, but you resent the way people use them; the way people try to use  _you_.

You try to give away as much money as possible, although you splurge a little on rent for your apartment: it’s a beautiful artist’s loft you stumbled upon when you were looking for a place a few weeks before you moved from Republic City, and you’d fallen in love immediately. It was bright and airy and the walls were brick, a little run-down, and you had to put in a bathroom—you don’t half-ass bathrooms, though, and this one is gorgeous, with a huge claw footed bathtub and a walk-in double-headed shower and heated hardwood floors—and you redid the kitchen, although you don’t really ever cook. When you were really small, you vaguely remember that your mom had taught you a few recipes, but no one taught you much after she died.

So you have a lot of prepackaged salads, some organic yogurt and a few cheeses, and a fair amount of leftovers from your favorite places. 

The rest of your apartment has a few spaces that are kind of designated by open bookshelves that you’d put a few keepsakes from your various trips places on, and you have an old phonograph you’d found and rewired last year, and you have a few shelves of records.

You sigh and decide to give up on your models for the day—it’s almost 6:30, and you’re getting hungry, and you’re tired, and you don’t want to cry again.

You trace your tattoo again and haphazardly go sit on your couch and prop your feet up for a minute. You think about Korra—and you remember  _You’re just Asami._

You sigh and get up and walk into the kitchen, check and see what food you have—as it turns out, you need to go grocery shopping tomorrow—and check your wine cooler. It’s the only thing you spend a ridiculous amount of money on; you’re fairly modest with your clothes and shoes; you like wearing a lot of slouchy things and scarves and sometimes a really great fitted blazer, and there’s no need for those to be inordinately expensive.

You get out a really fantastic bottle of chardonnay and wonder what you want to have for dinner, and then you kind of think that  _maybe_ Korra will be different, that you can let her in, because, really, in the past two weeks, she’s just seemed genuinely glad for your help in math, for when you pick up the tab at lunch; she laughs when you make jokes, and you can tell she actually tries to listen when you talk about your projects.

_You’re just Asami; you’re just Asami._

You put down the bottle of wine and go put on a new shirt, straighten the couch cushions, make sure your bed is neatly made—you make it every day, but whatever—and then pick up your phone.

//

You start to walk back over to your dorm so you can shower and grab dinner before putting on any random documentary from Nat Geo Wild in your Netflix queue and probably going to bed early when you get a text from Asami.

**Asami (6:47 pm):** _hey, what are you up to?_

**Korra (6:48 pm):** _We just won our first game! :) So I’m heading to my dorm and then probably sleeping early lol_

**Asami (6:48 pm):** _congrats, i’m proud of you :) and okay, get some rest!_

**Korra (6:48 pm):** _Did you have something you wanted to do?_

**Asami (6:49 pm):** _not really, it’s fine_

**Asami (6:51 pm):** _actually i don’t have any plans and i was wondering if you wanted to come over? i have a big tv and we can get delivery or something._

**Asami (6:51 pm):** _but if you want to just do your own thing, i completely understand_

**Korra (6:52 pm):** _No! I’d love to come over!_

**Korra (6:53 pm):** _Can we order pizza?_

**Asami (6:53 pm):** _sure :)_

**Korra (6:54 pm):** _You sure it’s healthy enough for you? :P_

**Asami (6:55 pm):** _i know a place that has healthy pizzas, don’t worry at all about that_

**Korra (6:55 pm):** _Oooookay, then. I’ll see you soon!!!!_

**Korra (6:59 pm):** _Also where is your apartment?_

//

Asami buzzes you up to her apartment—it takes you a few minutes to figure out which button to push and finally you just give up and call her to tell her you’re there—and you go to the third floor and then knock on the only door you see.

She opens it with a smile and gives you a warm hug, and you don’t really look at her apartment until she lets go. 

It’s  _huge_ , and it’s  _really awesome_ , with records and, like, six chalkboards in a corner, a bunch of diagrams and sketches pinned to them right now, this ridiculously elaborate kitchen, a really high ceiling with exposed beams and everything.

“It looks like this came out of a magazine,” you say.

She laughs but it’s a little strained. “If you want to have a look around, you can. I ordered pizza already, it should be here pretty soon.”

You feel a little out of place in your sweatpants and old t-shirt and TOMS that are really kind of falling apart, but Asami is in bare feet and leggings and a big white v-neck that she’s rolled up the sleeves on, and her hair is in a bun on the top of her head, and she’s wearing her glasses, which she does sometimes when you can tell she’s tired—and right now, she looks pretty relaxed.

You smile and hold out the package in your hand. “I got us cookies. But they’re like, organic pumpkin chocolate chip shit.”

She smiles so big you think you’ll probably be happy bringing her cookies for the rest of your life, because you feel really great about how joyful she looks.

“I’ll eat the whole box if you don’t want any, though, so definitely don’t worry about it.”

She laughs. “I’ll eat some, don’t worry.”

She pads into the kitchen and you follow her, and she sits on a bar stool and asks, “Do you want some wine? It’s totally fine if you don’t—I just like it, but I definitely don’t have to have any.”

You shrug—you’ve drunk since you were fifteen at a few parties and stuff. “Sure.”

She smiles and nods and takes a bottle out of a very expensive-looking and cool fridge thing. 

“This is a vintage chardonnay, if that’s alright?”

You laugh. “Asami, I know, like, nothing about wine.”

She smiles and goes about uncorking it. “It’s good, you’ll like it.”

“I trust you.”

She pours two moderate glasses and hands one to you with a really sweet smile, and she says, “Tell me about your game today, oh victor Korra.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, everyone played well, and we played a 4-3-3, which—”

She looks confused for a second, and so you say, “Uh, can I draw on one of your boards?”

She nods. “Yeah, totally.”

You take your wine and walk over to her engineering space, or whatever, and take the chalk, hand the wine to her. You start diagraming various formations, and she  _lights up_ when she starts talking about game theory and geometry, standing next to you and explaining  _why_ each formation works the way it does. You know she basically knows very little about soccer, but apparently this is math and she  _loves_ math.

She’s close and soft and she smells so good, and you’d kiss her if you thought she might want to kiss you. But you’re just  _not sure_ , because Asami seems really happy to just be your friend, but she kind of also flirts with you? Or maybe? 

She’s legitimately interested in the things you have to say about  _everything_ , though, and that matters to you right now way more than wanting to kiss her.

You’re in the middle of getting excited about the versatility of a 3-5-2 when the doorbell rings, and she laughs and jogs to grab cash and then answer the door for the pizza, and you walk to the kitchen with your wine and sit down at the island.

“We can sit at the table,” she says, and gestures to a dining table in the corner, “but, to be honest, I pretty much never use that.”

“I like it here,” you say, and she smiles and opens the boxes.

There’s one pizza with some green sauce and white cheese and nuts on it, and then there’s what’s quite  _obviously_ a meat lover’s, and Asami points to the first and says, “This is pesto pizza with a whole wheat crust, goat cheese, and pine nuts.”

She must see how you scrunch your nose—you don’t  _mean_ to, it just happens, because  _why_ would you even eat that—and then points at the other one. “This has, like, every sort of meat on the menu on it, I think.”

You grin and take a piece immediately and just start eating, and she laughs.

“Do you want, like, a fork or a knife or a plate?”

You carefully coax the piece away from you without pulling the cheese off and chew for a few seconds before answering, “Nah, this is great.”

She sits down and delicately picks up a piece of the special  _pesto pizza_ , and you can tell that she’s probably not used to eating pizza with her hands, which is actually kind of cute.

She looks over at you when you’ve finished three pieces to her one. “I ran, like, fourteen kilometers today,” you say.

She laughs and shakes her head. “I was just going to say that I’m glad you’re enjoying it, because I didn’t really know what to order.”

You nudge her shoulder. “Obviously this was perfect.”

She nods to herself and picks up another piece.

You move to the couch when you’re done and she gives you the bottle of wine and the box of cookies, which makes you laugh, and you pour another glass for both of you and eat a cookie—they're pretty good—while she’s putting the leftover pizza onto a plate and into the fridge. She sits down next to you and picks up her glass of wine before she puts her arm around your shoulder like it’s the simplest thing in the world, and maybe it kind of is, because leaning into her a little is wonderful.

“So,” she says, “what do you normally watch on Netflix?”

“To be honest, National Geographic Wild documentaries, mostly.”

She laughs. “Sounds perfect.”

//

You watch two documentaries about leopards and finish off the bottle of wine and half of the box of cookies before you realize how sleepy you are, and Korra’s barely keeping her eyes open.

“Come on,” you say, and she looks up at you with her wide, pretty, big blue eyes, and something tugs a little in your stomach that you’ve never felt before. It’s a good feeling though, so you smile and stand up. “Let’s go to bed.”

She nods and you pull back the sheets while she stands there and yawns, and you take your hair out of its bun before gesturing toward the bed. She climbs in a little clumsily and you follow, and you’re a little drunk and very exhausted—and also really, really  _happy_  and comfortable—so you don’t think twice before you rest your head against her chest.

She wraps an arm around your back loosely and starts to play with your hair gently, tracing over the soft stubble and then tangling it in the long hair at the back of your head, and you tug her a little closer to you.

She sighs and says, “‘Night, Asami.”

You smile and say, “Goodnight, Korra.”

Her hand stays wrapped up in your hair, and hearts are kind of your thing anyway, so you fall asleep listening to your favorite part of her body beat away so strongly beneath her breastbone. 


	2. i want this (a confusing happiness)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2, or: asami & korra go to a racetrack, korra invites asami to watch her play soccer, & they're probably both really into each other.

**Asami (12:32 pm):** _are you up to anything today?_

**Asami (12:37 pm):** _it’s okay if you are, don’t worry about it :)_

**Korra (12:37 pm):** _No!!! Sorry, I just got done with this weird training session Tenzin makes us do sometimes_

**Asami (12:38 pm):** _lol well you’ll have to tell me about it sometime_

**Korra (12:39 pm):** _Yeah but hey did you want to do something? Cuz I’m free for the rest of the day_

**Korra (12:39 pm):** _Actually I have some math homework if you wanna look that over for me too ;)_

**Asami (12:40 pm):** _haha sure, anytime_

**Korra (12:42 pm):** _Asami_

**Korra (12:42 pm):** _What did you want to do_

**Korra (12:42 pm):** _??????????_

**Korra (12:42 pm):** _:)_

**Asami (12:47 pm):**   _have you ever been to a racetrack?_

//

You definitely haven’t—you don’t even know how to drive—so you’re kind of excited. And you’re  _really_ excited to get to spend time with Asami; you’ve both had a really busy week—she’d had a big presentation, apparently, and you have a big conference game on Saturday night, so you’ve had long practices. 

Asami calls you when she’s gotten to your dorm—you told her it wasn’t necessary to pick you up, that you could just walk to her apartment, but apparently the university was on the way to this racetrack she’s taking you to—and when you walk outside, she’s on a bench, legs crossed. She’s wearing black jeans—you’re sure they’re her favorites by this point—and a t-shirt with what you think are legitimately a few grease stains on it, and for once you don’t feel underdressed in your tank top and jeans and light jacket. It’s not that Asami usually has fancy clothes on or anything, but she always looks like she walked out of a really trendy magazine, with nice blazers that sometimes have elbow patches, and her hair that has these perfect waves—and you’ve seen her right away in the morning, so you know she  _actually_ looks like that  _all the time_. 

She breaks into this really big, nice smile when she sees you, though, and pushes her sunglasses up on her head and stands. She hugs you tight and hums happily when you fit you put your chin on her shoulder, and you don’t even feel bad for taking in her smell, flowers and smoke—you’ve never seen her with a cigarette so you know she doesn’t do it often, but you’ve spotted a pack on the kitchen counter in her apartment.

When you step back, she smiles and asks, “Ready?”

You nod.

She grins and takes your hand, and your stomach drops in the best way, and you rub your thumb over the top of her hand and hear her breath catch a little bit, but she only keeps walking.

As it turns out, she brought her car, and she opens the door for you. It’s a deep red—fitting for Asami, and you’re pretty sure that’s her favorite color—and it’s a convertible, and it’s a nice day so she leaves the top down and pulls out of the space.

“This is my favorite car,” she says, hanging one arm over the side and leaving the other on the steering wheel. “I have a few more, but I designed this one myself.”

“It’s awesome,” you say, and you aren’t even frustrated because she’s just so genuine about her excitement, so it doesn’t sound at all like bragging or that she’s trying to impress you.

You don’t really talk a whole lot because she drives fast and the wind is kind of loud, and you just watch her. The wind pulls through her hair and her fingers on the steering wheel are long and thin and relaxed, and she’s probably the most beautiful person you’ve ever known.

It takes you about fifteen minutes and then she’s pulling into a parking lot in front of a building with a sign that says  _Sato Motorworks_ and you can’t help but smile at the look of excitement on her face when she holds your hand again and opens the door for you.

You walk in and the receptionist says, “Hello, Miss Sato.”

Asami smiles and says, “It’s just Asami, remember?”

The receptionist nods with a little bit of a blush.

“Donna,” she says, then points to you, “this is Korra. Korra, this is Donna.”

You shake Donna’s hand and then Asami directs you back to a room with some clothes in it. 

“We’re going to race,” she says, and she looks so excited you can’t help but feel the same. She hands you some clothes. “This is a full body suit, and I’m pretty sure this will fit you just fine. It’s a safety thing, so you can change over there.”

You nod and go into one of the dressing rooms she points you toward, and you hear her changing too. You don’t really know if you should put on your converse again, and you think you probably look  _ridiculous_ in this navy blue coverall thing, but whatever, this is making Asami happy.

When you come out, she’s lacing up some special boots, and she’s in a suit that’s maroon and black, and you think Asami is gorgeous all the time, but this is just, well,  _sexy_. She smiles and asks, “Does it fit okay?”

You nod, and she points toward some boots next to where she’s sitting. 

“Those are for you.”

They’re obviously new, and you ask, “Asami, are you sure?”

She nods. “Yeah, all of this is stuff we test all the time to see if we like the new tweaks or not, so someone else would be wearing them if you weren’t.”

You sigh a little in relief and sit down next to where she’s finishing up lacing her boots.

“Plus, they’re not nearly as cool as mine.”

You laugh and tie your boots and stand, and she walks and hands you a helmet before grabbing one for herself as well as a pair of goggles and some gloves. 

She ushers you into an elevator and she’s humming a little of something you swear is Taylor Swift, and then the doors open to a  _huge_ racetrack that’s completely empty.

“So this is where we test our race cars and motorcycles,” she says. “We have other tracks for our regular cars.”

You’re a little in awe. “Wow.”

She grins. “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely sure about what I’m choosing to go into in engineering, but I  _love_ racing.”

You nod.

“Come on,” she says and you follow her to a car that’s in the middle of the track. “This is an indie car,” she says, “so you’ll sit behind me. Unless you want to drive.”

You shake your head. “I don’t even know how to drive.”

She smiles. “Well, in that case, this’ll be fun.”

You put on your helmets and she puts on her goggles while you put down the visor of yours—unlike Asami’s, which doesn’t have any visor at all, it covers your entire face—and then she helps you into the little seat before putting on her gloves and climbing in in front of you. 

She revs the engine—it’s  _loud_ and you feel it everywhere—and turns around. “Ready?”

You give her a thumbs up and then you’re moving, like,  _really_ fast, and you’re already turning and the track is racing by, and it’s exhilarating. You do a few laps on the larger circular outer track and then Asami stops and turns around again. 

“You doing okay?”

“That’s  _amazing_ ,” you say.

She grins. “That’s not even the fun part.”

She waits for a few minutes while another car drives up beside you.

“We’re gonna race,” she says, then turns to look forward.

Someone waves a checkered flag and you’re going  _way_ faster than you were before, which is kind of terrifying but amazing, and she turns outwardly this time, onto a different track that twists and turns, and for a while it looks like you might lose, but then Asami barely makes a turn, and the other car spins out while you easily cross the finish line first. You cheer and Asami hops out of the car and you get out a little more clumsily and you give her a big hug. 

“That was  _amazing_!”

She shrugs. “It’s kinda fun, huh?”

You push up the visor on your helmet. “I can’t believe anyone thinks your prissy or anything other than so cool, that was just—so  _cool_.”

She laughs and nods. “It’s one of my favorite things, I go on drives to clear my head a lot, but racing is—just, totally the best.”

You can believe that. You end up testing out a few more cars—you can’t tell the difference at all, but after every run Asami scribbles some things down on a notepad—and then Asami grins and leads you to the side of the track.

“This might be a little boring for you,” she says—which, no, you’re  _sure_ it won’t be—“but do you want to watch me ride my bike?”

“Your bike?”

She laughs. “I built a motorcycle. Well, many motorcycles, but this is my favorite.”

Even picturing Asami on a motorcycle makes your heart beat a little faster, and you say, “Yeah.”

“Cool,” she says, then squeezes your hand. She disappears for a few minutes and you take off your helmet and sit down, and then Asami’s pushing a  _very_ shiny all-black motorcycle onto the track and laughing with one of the workers, and he pats her on the back before she waves to you.

You give her a thumbs up and then she climbs on, and the bike is sleek and slender—kind of like Asami, who’s changed her suit or at least put on a jacket that says  _Sato Industries_ on the back and looks a little padded. 

Asami revs the engine—which you can hear from this far away—and then she’s off, and you’ve no doubts she’s probably going faster than you were on any of your runs in the cars. You’re amazed—and so glad—that she doesn’t crash when she rounds corners, because she’s practically sideways, and she rides for about ten minutes before slowing down for a lap and then stopping, hopping off gracefully, and handing the bike off to an employee, who gives her a high five. She writes on a piece of a paper he hands her for a few seconds, and then she’s jogging across the track toward you.

She pulls her goggles down around her neck and then takes her helmet off, and the wind catches just at the right moment that her hair kind of  _billows_ , and, yep, definitely could be in a shampoo commercial, and  _god_ , you hope she likes you like you like her—you’re starting to think she probably does, but you don’t know, and you really, really like her as a person and don’t want to jeopardize your friendship, so you’re waiting—and then she raises an eyebrow.

“So, what did you think?”

You want to tell her that that was probably the most terrifying and sexy thing you’ve ever seen. “That was— _you’re_ amazing.”

“Nah,” she says, sitting down next to you. “I just grew up with this stuff.”

You shake your head and put your hand on her thigh before you can stop yourself. “No, Asami—you really are absolutely incredible. Not in the ways other people probably tell you, but, those too, I mean, just—”

She looks like she’s trying not to laugh but also like she  _might_ want to kiss you, and she says, “You’re incredible too.”

You smile and then touch her jacket, which turns out to be leather. “So this is cool.”

She laughs brightly. “You can have it if you want.”

For a moment you allow yourself to imagine how you’d look in her jacket, but you shake your head. “It looks better on you.”

She rolls her eyes and offers her hand. “Want to grab some dinner?”

“Always.”

//

You’re a little sweaty when you take your suit off—but you weren’t about to jeopardize Korra’s safety by forgoing them—and you file away a mental note that Korra had liked your motorcycle jacket, because you know you’ll need presents for holidays and her birthday and everything, and you change back into your jeans and t-shirt, try to tame your hair a little in the mirror. Your undercut is getting a little longer and it’s getting weird under the helmet, and the rest of your hair is starting to knot a little. You sigh when it’s a little hopeless and you sit down on the bench outside of the dressing room—Korra’s still changing—and put your hair in a loose braid.

Korra comes out of the dressing room with her suit neatly folded and her boots on top, and you feel sort of amazed that she makes a jeans and t-shirt look as good as she does, but you don’t think  _that_ much of it when she says, “Um, I’m assuming you have people to wash these and stuff?”

You laugh. “Yeah,” you point to a bin, “you can put the suit in there, and just leave the boots by the bench.

She nods and then sits down next to you, and you shove your feet into your boots while she puts on her Converse.

“So, what’ll it be for dinner?”

She hesitates for a few seconds, staring at her hands.

“Korra, I can—”

She raises her eyes and you realize she’s challenging you to finish that sentence, so you stop talking. “How about burgers?”

You can’t help but smile, and you know Korra’s eighteen and she certainly looks grown up in most ways, but she’s also  _cute_ , which you’ve never really thought about anyone before, not like this. “I know just the place,” you say.

You drive quickly, because apparently no one has ever driven Korra anywhere properly, to a little burger place that has a big menu—she doesn’t have any more training today, so you know she’ll probably order, like, the biggest burger possible, and you really like their chickpea burger—and it’s not expensive, and you get that Korra wants to be independent—you adore that about her—but you also know she can’t spend a lot of money like you can. 

She opens her car door before you can, and you frown, but then she holds the restaurant door open for you and you smile, and she touches the small of your back as you walk in, and it sends a little thrill up your spine in a really wonderful way.

You get seated and you don’t bother to look at the menu, but Korra does, and it occurs to you logically that this might be a little creepy, but you take the time to just watch her. Her hands are sure and rough and small, and she doesn’t bite her nails—you do, and it’s not one of your best habits, admittedly—and she reads with care and complete concentration. She has a cute small nose and these pretty, pretty big blue eyes, and they’re stunning against her smooth dark skin. She’s more muscular than you are, thin and toned, and when she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth in concentration, you have to take a deep breath, because you’ve never felt like this about anyone, and it’s scary for you: people haven’t really been the best to you, but Korra’s different. You trust that now, at least, that she’s very genuine in how she likes you, because she listens to you, and she laughs at your corny math jokes, and she’s definitely not using you for your money or your brain—although she does still let you tutor her in calculus, despite the fact that she’s doing really well with everything—and you’re so happy.

She looks up and you glance down at your folded hands because you’re pretty sure she just caught you staring, but if she did, she lets it go and asks, “Do you know what you’re getting?”

You nod, and before she can ask, your waiter comes to your table. “Hey Asami,” he says.

“Teddy, hi,” you say.

Korra smiles a little at this and Teddy says, “Whenever Asami eats here she  _way_ overtips, so we always want her table.”

Korra laughs and you feel your face flush—sometimes you go out just to talk to people for a little bit, and you have money and know they work way too hard for whatever they make, so you like tipping more than most people do. “I’m Korra,” she says, and offers her hand.

Teddy shakes it and then takes out his pad of paper and a pen. “The usual for you, Asami?”

You nod. “Please.”

He smiles and writes down your order, and then turns to Korra. She orders a burger with bacon and, like, four types of cheeses on it, which makes you smile, and fries, and an Oreo milkshake, and thanks him when she’s finished. 

Teddy walks away and  _winks_ at you, and  _god_ , you really do not need this right now, because you’re already blushing.

Korra seems delighted at this but she doesn’t say anything, and you tug up the sleeves of your shirt because, for once in your life, you don’t feel very poised.

You notice Korra glance at the tattoo on the underside of your arm, but then she looks away.

You sigh, because—you may as well. “This was my second tattoo,” you say, and she meets your eyes with an understanding nod and stays quiet.

You wait a few moments but Korra’s safe, you remind yourself, and continue, “I got it after I came out as bi to my dad.”

You  _swear_ Korra fights a smile, but she just says, “Yeah?”

You nod. “I’ve known, for like, pretty much forever, but it was at the beginning of the summer, because I was moving out here and—we used to be pretty close, after my mom—” 

All of these things that you don’t  _ever_ talk about, that you don’t  _ever_ tell  _anyone_ , are about to spill out, and you don’t really know if you’re ready for that, but Korra’s paying attention with this soft expression.

“He was terrible, basically,” you say, skipping over the details, but Korra doesn’t push. “And I got angry, really mad, because—I don’t know, I just don’t understand why sexuality would be something that makes you think less, or more, of a person, because it just  _is_ , but.” You shrug and Korra reaches out to take your hand.

You let her. 

“So, yeah, I was pissed off, which is how this happened.” You point to your hair, and Korra laughs a little. “Spur of the moment ‘how can I make my dad pissed off too’ choice, because we had to go to a big fancy business event that night, and, you know, I’m  _Asami Sato,_ and he happened to have clippers in his bathroom, so.” Korra fully laughs now. “Luckily, I like it, but it wasn’t my most planned-out decision.”

“Sometimes those are the best, though,” Korra says. “And I like it, which should really be the only thing that matters here.”

You laugh and shake your head, because she’s remarkable in her ability to pull you out of shitty moments, and then she squeezes your hand. “But, like, being mad at someone is kind of exhausting, you know? And so I just—this is from a poem, and I just wanted something to remind me that asking for forgiveness can be, like, something that lasts for my whole life.”

Her shoulders slump a little bit. “Oh, Asami.”

Your neck is  _burning_ and you’re sure your face is entire red. “Which is kind of corny and ridiculous.”

Korra shakes her head, brushes messy bangs aside. “It’s really, really not. I promise. And I’m so, so sorry your dad reacted like he did. No one deserves that but definitely not you.”

You feel tears press at your eyes, and luckily Teddy comes up to your table with a tray of food, and Korra laughs when puts down your chickpea burger and a salad in front of you.

“I’m going to find a non-healthy food you  _love_ ,” she says while Teddy finishes placing the plates on the table.

You roll your eyes, and Teddy flashes a smile in your direction when he leaves two straws by the milkshake.

Korra douses her burger in ketchup and then picks the whole thing up and unabashedly takes a huge bite, and she’s entirely without pretense, and it’s one of the best things you’ve ever experienced.

“This is really good,” she says after she’s chewed for a while, and you nod. 

“They’re my favorite burgers here.”

She eats a few fries and then wipes her hands on her napkin and opens a straw, then hands the other one to you. “If you want.”

You smile—this is absolutely absurd and so cheesy, but Korra is, well,  _Korra_ , and you roll your eyes but peel off the wrapper and stick your straw in the milkshake at the same time as her. She grins and then takes a sip and you end up laughing instead of really drinking any at first, because Korra is struggling with a bit of oreo that got stuck in her straw, and this is the best day you’ve had in a long time.

//

You open a beer for Korra and then yourself, and she wanders over to look at one of your bookshelves that has some engineering textbooks from undergrad and a few figurines.

“These are beautiful,” Korra says. “Where are they from?”

You sit down on your couch and prop your feet up. “This little shop in Zaoufu. I was there when I was sixteen for a bit.”

Korra runs her fingers over one carefully and then turns to you and takes a sip of beer before walking over and sitting next to you on the couch.

“Have you been all over the world?”

You nod. “Pretty much. My dad travels a lot for business, obviously, and I’d try to go with him when I could.”

Korra sighs. “That’s so cool.”

You shrug. “It had its perks.”

She automatically snuggles into your chest, and you smile into her hair as you wrap an arm around her. “I didn’t leave the South Pole until I was fifteen, and that was just to go to boarding school so I’d get seen by more scouts for soccer.”

“Yeah?”

She nods and then she’s quiet for a few minutes. It’s started to rain, and you try to formulate a pattern of drops per second absentmindedly, but you can’t hear  _that_  well, really, and then Korra asks, “Have you been to the South Pole?”

“Once,” you say, “but I was pretty little and we were only there for a day. I just remember it being  _cold_.”

She laughs. “It is cold, you’re not wrong there.”

You take a swig of beer and you’re about to ask her what she wants to watch on Netflix tonight—you’re making it through a complete re-watch of  _FRIENDS_ , so you’re about 98.4% sure that’s what she’ll pick, but you want to give her the choice anyway—when she tenses a little and says, “I’m bi too.”

Your heart speeds up a little at this information and you can’t stop the huge smile that spreads across your face. “Cool,” you say and rub her back a little.

She says, “I haven’t told my parents, but I know they’re not going to really care—um, we have some different views of sexuality and gender and stuff in my culture, so.”

Your heart aches a little bit in very selfish way, but you just nod.

“I’m going to tell them the next time we Skype, but I didn’t get a chance to really say this earlier, and I wanted to but—I’m sorry about your dad, and I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“Korra—“

“I won’t mention it again,” she says hurriedly, “because I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it a lot, but—yeah, I’m sorry.”

“No,” you say, tug her just a little closer. “Don’t apologize. Thank you, and thanks for, um, telling me.”

“Sure,” she says, and you stay still for a few moments before she turns and looks at you, and her lips are  _close_ , but then she says, “Can we watch  _FRIENDS_  now?”

You laugh and hand her the remote. “Absolutely.”

//

There’s no one in your dorm’s computer lab right now—probably because it’s, like, 1 am, but, whatever, it’s fine because your parents have a time difference anyway, so you click on Skype and put your headphones in.  They’re shitty and only one ear works, but they function for the most part.

You accept the call from your mom a few seconds later, and she smiles so big when you answer. You try to Skype them once a week when you’re not too busy, because you miss them so much.

“Hi,” she says, and you grin and wave.

“Hi.”

“Dad’ll be here in a few minutes, he’s just heading home from a meeting.”

You nod.

She sits back. “So, how are you?”

“I’m really, really good,” you say. “And, before you ask, my grades _are_  coming first.”

She laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ve trusted you with grades since you started school, honey.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you been taking care of yourself? Having any fun outside of practice and classes?”

You’re about to talk when you hear your dad burst through the front door and shout, “Hi Korra!” from the entryway before he appears on camera a few seconds later, strong and intimidating and smiling as always.

“Hi Dad.”

He situates himself in his seat next to your mom and says, “Any boys I need to know about?”

You can’t help the little frown that you feel your mouth tug into, and your mom’s eyes widen just a little and she pats your dad’s arm and then asks, “Or girls?”

Your mouth goes dry—you were going to tell them anyway, and you almost want to ask how long they’ve known, and you’ve always been close with your mom but you’re  _especially_ close to your dad, and you’re  _nervous_ —but then he just grins and says, “Yeah, or girls?”

You take a deep breath and say, “Well, um—do you remember Asami?”

Your dad’s smile is  _ridiculous_ , and your mom looks awfully smug. “You only talked about her for an hour last week, but I think I recall a few things,” your dad says.

You roll your eyes. “Well, I’m bisexual, and I like her. Like-like her.”

You’re  _mortified_ when your parents literally  _high five_ , but they recover and your mom says, “That’s  _great_ , honey.”

You start to cry even though you’re smiling, and your dad looks so concerned, and you shake your head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just tired, and I’ve really wanted to tell you guys, and I know—some people don’t have parents like you, and—”

“—Korra,” your mom says, “sweetheart, you know we’re proud of you and we love you so much, whether you like boys or girls or anyone else, okay?”

You nod and your dad adds, “Plus, Asami Sato? Good work, Korra.”

You roll your eyes with a laugh, and you’re kind of a mess right now, but you’re so thankful for them. “We haven’t, uh—we  _haven’t_ , but I’m pretty sure she likes me too.”

“From what you’ve told us, I’d say give it a shot,” your dad says, and your mom laughs.

“Tonraq,” she chastises softly, and he shrugs.

“She took me to a— _her_ —racetrack yesterday and, guys, she knows how to drive. Like, racing driving. And  _then_ , um—is it weird if I told you she was really hot riding her motorcycle?”

Your dad squints a little and your mom seems to contemplate this. “I can believe that,” she says, and your dad ends up booming a laugh.

You smile and tell them more about Asami, and then you move onto talking about your teammates, your upcoming games, Tenzin, your classes, your dad’s council meetings, Naga, and so many other little things.

You talk to them for almost two hours, even though it’s the middle of the night, and your chest is so warm because it’s all so normal, and then your mom says, “Okay, honey, get some sleep,” after your fifth yawn.

Your dad nods. “We love you, Korra.”

“I love you guys too.”

//

You’re packing up your stuff at the coffee shop while Asami tries to cram her laptop into her bag, and it’s kind of funny because she’s a little flustered. You stand with a groan—your practice yesterday had been killer, lots of plyometrics, so your legs are sore as hell—and then Asami turns toward you with a flourish and holds out her hand, which has a tangled mess of little cords in it. It takes you a few seconds to realize that she’s holding navy blue headphones, and she says,  _very_ quickly, “I was bored a few nights ago so designed these specifically for noise canceling while in motion, but obviously they’re still a prototype, and I swear this isn’t a weird bribe thing, but I need someone to test them out, and—uh, they match your uniform?”

You laugh a little because her eyes are wide and she looks so genuine, you don’t feel patronized at all. Girls at your high school treated you like a charity case a lot of the time, because you only were at that expensive and ridiculously snobby school on a scholarship, but Asami has never seemed like that at all—you’ve seen her be honestly generous toward everyone, not just you.

You take them and she lets out a breath you hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thanks, Asami,” you say.

She shrugs with a sweet smile. “No problem. Just, like, report back soon or whatever, tell me what you think I could improve.”

You give her an—admittedly kind of dorky—salute. “Yes ma’am.”

She laughs and puts her hand on the small of your back when you walk out, and you kind of want to feel that forever.

She fiddles with her bag when you get outside, and she seems really nervous.

You reach for her arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

She sighs but nods. “I’m fine, you can head home if you want.”

You tug on the strap of your backpack. “It’s okay.”

She sighs and walks toward a little ledge by the art building. “Do you mind of I have a cigarette?”

You shake your head. “No that’s okay—just, you know, don’t make a habit out of it. I want you around for a long time.”

You try not to cringe, but her smile is soft and sad, and she only nods and opens a turquoise pack of cigarettes and then takes one out quickly, then digs out a lighter and lights it with a deep breath.

“I swear I only smoke when I’m stressed out of my mind. Bad habit from when I was younger and wanted to look cool.”

You kind of wonder how Asami could ever  _not_ look cool, but you sit down next to her, upwind from the smoke.

You take her hand without a second thought, and you wait for her to take a few drags—and you should be so grossed out by this, but it’s mostly just kind of hot—and she finally says, “I have to go to Republic City in two days, just for one meeting for Sato Industries, just to check in on my research, and my dad won’t even be there because it’s not his department and I’m pretty sure he’s on business in the Fire Nation right now, but—just—so much of my life happened there, you know?”

You nod. “Can I help?” 

She smiles and shakes her head. “You’re so  _good._ ”

You roll your eyes. “I’m really not. You’ve just met a fair amount of assholes, I think.”

She laughs. “This might be true.”

“By the way,” you say, “I don’t know if this is the best or worst time to tell you this, but, uh—I came out to my parents, and they were super great, so—if you ever need someone to talk to or whatever, they’re like super ridiculous and very embarrassing, and they’ll probably just end up telling you a million stories about how I was as a little kid, which—trust me, aren’t incredibly flattering, but—”

When you finally stop rambling and look at her, she’s crying a little and smiling a lot, and she snubs out her cigarette on the ledge before saying, “I am honestly profoundly happy for you.”

She licks her lips and you have to  _force_ yourself to look away, but you say, “Thanks. And, yeah, if I can help at all, please just tell me. You can call me or text me or whatever, you know, whenever you need. I’ll leave the ringer on.”

She tilts her head and hops off the ledge and then brushes off her hands. “You already help more than you know, Korra.”

//

_“Tell me something completely ridiculous and unrelated to synthetic heart valves.”_

You laugh at Jinora’s eye roll—you might have picked up on the first ring, whatever.

“Hi Asami,” Jinora shouts.

“Well,” you say, “Jinora says hello, for one.”

Asami laughs.  _“Hello back.”_

“And secondly, uh, I don’t really know anything about synthetic heart valves other than what you’ve told me, so that won’t be a problem.”

“ _Perfect._ ”

You hear a little whirring in the background. “Where are you, by the way?”

“ _On my airship_ ,” she says,  _“I’ll be back by tonight_.”

“You own an  _airship_?”

“ _Well, yes?_ ”

You shake your head. “Okay, well, Tenzin made us meditate for, like, forty-five minutes this morning after practice.”

_“How’d that go for you?”_

“I counted to 6902 before I got bored this time.”

She laughs.  _“New record, huh?”_

“I’m pretty impressed by myself, to be honest.”

_“As you should be.”_

You say, “Also, um, speaking of practice—do you have any plans tomorrow night around six?”

“ _Not one_.”

You smile. “Well, I have a really big game, and I know you’re not really into sports too much, but—do you want to come watch me play?”

You’re not sure why she hasn’t yet, and you’d really wanted to avoid asking her, but whatever. 

“ _I’d love to watch you play, Korra_.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Awesome.”

//

It’s dorky, you know, but it’d made you laugh, so you carry your  _GO KORRA_ sign and look for some place to sit. You have a few friends in your program, but they’re all older and Zhu Li is really into ice hockey, but no one’s into soccer, but that’s okay, you’re fine sitting by yourself, especially if it’s to see Korra do the thing she really loves.

But then you hear someone calling your name, and you see Jinora standing and waving her arms with a smile. Your chest feels a little big, and you climb the bleachers and sit down next to her. 

She’s with a few other people—a girl and a boy. “This is Opal,” Jinora says, and Opal smiles politely and shakes your hand, “and this is Bolin.”

Bolin gulps and shakes your hand a few too many times, and Opal rolls her eyes. 

“You’re Asami Sato,” he says, almost reverent.

Your heart sinks but then Opal flicks him on the side of his head, and her shrinks back with an  _Ow_ , and she says, “He just really likes your designs for the new Sato Mobile, that’s all. He’s always weird but not in a bad way.”

You nod and take a deep breath, steel your nerves. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he says. “Korra’s told us a lot about you, and, like, you seem really cool.”

You laugh. Korra’s told you  _all_ about her friends, too. “Same here, and I’m glad to meet you guys.”

You’d gotten there early—you can only change your two university t-shirts under one of four leather jackets so many times before feeling pathetic—and then everyone starts to cheer, because the teams are taking the field. Yours is in all white uniforms, although most of them have navy blue jackets on, because it’s October and getting colder outside.

You find Korra almost immediately, and she looks incredibly serious, more serious than you’ve ever seen her before, and it’s almost absurdly cute. Her hair is pulled back but her bangs are still messy as always.

Jinora says, “They’re gonna warm up for a few more minutes if you want to go grab some food or something?”

You  _really_ don’t want any concession stand food, but Bolin starts searching through his pockets, and you stand up. “Yeah, I’ll go. Do you guys want anything?”

Bolin looks hesitant and then asks for some nachos, and you laugh and nod. “Sure.”

You end up panicking a little and buying nachos, popcorn, and like four kinds of candy, but Bolin is overjoyed when you get back, and you laugh when he stands to give you a big hug.

You sit down and talk to Jinora a little bit—she’s a freshman and a gymnast, and Tenzin is actually her dad—and you look at Korra every few minutes, but she’s kind of just standing and running around a little right now.

But then she jogs over to the bench with the rest of her teammates and takes a drink of gatorade, then looks into the crowd and, even from far away, you can tell her face lights up in a huge smile when she sees you.

She gives you a little wave and you return it, and then, before you can really even process what’s happening, she’s unzipping her jacket and then tugging a warm-up jersey over her head, and you can’t even begin to look away, because she’s wearing a sports bra and then you just see her abs, and— _wow_. You’ve not felt anything close to this for anyone, and there’s an ache between your legs that would be embarrassing if you cared.

Which you don’t, not at this moment, because then Korra turns around, and fishes for her jersey in her bag, and you have to actually remind yourself to breathe when you see a tattoo in black ink on her whole back of some symbol. It’s beautiful, and  _she’s_ beautiful, and—Jinora is looking at you with a raised brow as Korra pulls her jersey on.

“When—has she—what is that tattoo?” you manage to get out, and Jinora laughs delightedly.

“Oh, ask her, it’s a much better story if she tells you, I don’t want to ruin it.”

You nod and try to compose yourself, and luckily the game starts, which gives you something to focus on at least, because you can try to pick out the geometry of the formations Korra had drawn for you.

You’re pretty sure they’re in a 3-5-2, which is Korra’s favorite, apparently, and she’s incredible. She seems to be kind of everywhere, and she directs her teammates in a way that’s so smart and so encouraging—which is how Korra pretty much always is anyway, so you’re not surprised. She’s by far the best player on the field, and your heart swells with so much pride when she scores the first goal—twenty minutes in, which is pretty great, you figure.

When her teammates are giving her hugs as they run back toward the halfline, it hits you: you’re so proud to know her, to have her kindness and bravery as things she gives to you all the time. 

You love her.

This realization makes the rest of the game even more enjoyable, and you scold yourself for not going before—you were waiting for her to ask you, because you know that sometimes soccer is a very private thing for her, and you didn’t want to encroach on that at all—but she’s amazing. She assists two more goals and then proceeds to absolutely  _drop_ another girl to the ground and then help her up before getting a yellow card—which she laughs at a little and nods without any arguing—and the game ticks down. You win 3-1, and Korra’s coach seems happy with her, which is good, because she’s  _really_ talented, and she’s kind of magic to watch.

They head off into the locker room—for some reason, you kind of wanted to really get to go down onto the field, but whatever—and Jinora, Opal, and Bolin stand. “Well, we’re going to get some dinner, and you’re welcome to come with us,” Jinora says, and it’s one of the nicest unthinking things anyone’s done for you in a long time. She gestures toward the locker room. “They usually take a while in there, but I’m sure Korra’d love to see you if you want to hang around too.”

You try not to blush too hard and nod. “Yeah, I think I’ll congratulate her. But, thanks for the invite, and, maybe soon? Lunch or something.”

“Sure thing, Asami,” Bolin says, and Opal nods. 

Jinora smiles and squeezes your shoulder briefly before saying, “Don’t have her home too late.”

You try to think of a reply, but she’s laughing and following her friends down the bleachers already with a little wave, and you roll your eyes and stand, fiddle with your hair; you’d cleaned up the side before the game—and painted your nails, shaved your legs, and taken two showers—and this is getting a little ridiculous, because you’re pretty certain Korra likes you, and she’s seen you drunk, asleep, and then hungover, so.

You wander over to the locker room where a small group of people are waiting—they look like reporters and some fans, maybe, and you’re a little mortified that you still have your terrible  _GO KORRA_ sign, but you’d feel kind of bad throwing it away now, so you stand near the back of the group.

After a while, they start to trickle out, and Korra is one of the last, and she’s obviously just taken a shower, because her hair is damp and long and thick over her shoulders, and she’s in soft cotton navy sweatpants and a long sleeve light blue t-shirt with your university’s logo on the front, a backpack slung over one of her shoulders, and when the reporters see her, they all call her name.

It’s kind of amazing, because she doesn’t get overwhelmed at all, and she’s never really looked older than when calmly talking about the hard work of her teammates while a million camera flashes go off. After a little while, though, she excuses herself and goes to sign some autographs—a few jerseys that little girls are wearing seem to particularly delight her—and then she waves to them and walks a few steps before she sees you.

She smiles so big, and she barrels toward you in a hug. You’re distantly aware that  _maybe_ some more camera flashes are happening, and when she backs up she’s kind of close to you, her hands still on your arms, but she says, “Thank you so much for coming to see me,” and you couldn’t care less at all.

“Of course,” you say. “You were, like, so amazing.”

She shrugs. “Everyone played so great today.”

You shake your head. “No, Korra, you’re incredibly talented.”

She blushes and looks down, and then she spots the sign resting against your leg. “You made me a sign?”

“Uh—as a joke?”

She hugs you again. “Asami, that’s so sweet.”

She picks it up and snorts a laugh when she sees all it says is just  _GO KORRA_ , and she says, “Aren’t you a super creative genius artist?”

“I was in a hurry,” you mumble, and she takes your hand with a squeeze. “I’m just kidding. It was really sweet, thank you.” 

You look at her fully and she kisses your cheek, and you’re pretty sure you’re both blushing furiously, and you look behind you and—yep, definitely cameras.

“Wanna get out of here? Go celebrate your goal and assist and yellow card?”

She laughs. “I would love that.”

//

You end up going to grab dinner at your favorite pizza place—she’d admitted, last time, that pesto and goat cheese wasn’t the  _worst_ , even if it looked ridiculous—and she doesn’t even bat an eye when you say you’re paying as a victory dinner.

She plays with your fingers when you’re waiting for the bill, explaining a few crucial moments in the game for you. You listen and try your best to learn—you’re going to have to watch more analysis because you want to understand what matters so much to her—but her hair is drying and curling around the ends, and her eyes are bright, and she’s  _beautiful_.

You pay and hold the door open for her as you leave, and when you walk out onto the sidewalk, she takes your hand and squeezes, and then looks at you with a sweet, nervous smile that makes your heart flutter—which, that’s a little disconcerting, you should look into that.

The pizza place is close to your apartment, so she says, “I’ll walk you home,” and you nod.

You make your way quietly, but it’s the easy kind of quiet that you love, and you’re on your street corner before you realize it.

It’s foggy tonight, this magic you’d loved when you’d visited—the fog was the main reason you’d decided on this school, other than the fact that it was far away from Republic City and had one of the two best biomedical PhD programs in the world—and there are little moths flittering around under the streetlamp.

Korra turns to you and you swallow. “There’s this poem about this place by a guy who moved here from the South Pole,” she says, “and there’s a line—it’s like,  _the company of moths,_ which—I always loved that.”

You nod. “It’s beautiful.” Your voice comes out soft and quiet and deep, and Korra reaches up and runs her hand down your arm. 

“I like this jacket.”

You laugh, because— _Korra_. “Me too.”

Korra takes a deep breath, looks at your lips, and then looks up at you. Then she asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You’re leaning down before you have any words, because you’ve  _really wanted_ to kiss her all night, and then—it’s wonderful. Her lips are soft and warm and chapped, and her hands immediately find their way into your hair, and you wrap yours around her waist and tug her closer.

And then her tongue presses against your lips, and you don’t even mind the little sigh that escapes you when it grazes your teeth, and then you suck hard on her bottom lip and she moans, and you smile, and you feel her smile, and it’s kind of the best thing in the world.

She kisses you in a few small, less deep kisses and then pulls back, drops one of her hands to the back of your neck and she brushes a few pieces of hair behind your ear with her other one.

“On a scale of 1 to 100, Asami, how does that rate?”

You do realize that you’re on a street corner, but you have no choice: you literally both  _laugh_ into another kiss.

“I need to kiss you more to properly rate everything,” you say, and she grins.

“I’d be okay with that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You grin and she scratches the back of your neck. “You know you’re beautiful, right?”

You shrug. 

“Because, Asami—holy shit.”

You laugh. “Well, you too. And, by the way, I need to see your tattoo. And apparently Jinora said there’s a good story about it.”

Korra smiles. “Yeah, it’s a good one.” She glances at her watch and then her eyes grow wide and she says, “Fuck, Asami, I’m so so sorry—I really want to just kiss you all night, like, really—but I have a team meeting thing in, like, seven minutes.”

You shake your head and unwrap your arms from her. “That’s okay. We have the rest of our hypothetically relative infinite lives to kiss, I can wait one night.”

She squints for a second. “Okay, well. I’ll call you when I’m done. To say goodnight.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she says, and she turns around to walk down the block, but you catch her wrist and pull her toward you for one last sweet kiss, and you cup her face.

She laughs after a few seconds and says, “You’re such a liar. You couldn’t wait twelve seconds.”

You roll your eyes. “Go, go. Don’t be late.”

She nods and jogs off down the block, turns around at the next corner and waves at you. You blow her a kiss and laugh when she jumps up and pretends to catch it in her hand and put it in her pocket.

Your heart feels really, really big, and it aches a little in the best way when you go inside, and you’re probably going to need to calculate a lot more relative infinities.

It’s one of the first nights in forever you sleep without nightmares, so you’re pretty sure it’s a very worthwhile project.


	3. blow out all the candles (you’re too old to be so shy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3: or, they have a really good night, & then asami has a really bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: death mention.

_i have brittle bones it seems / i bite my tongue & i torch my dreams / i have a little voice to speak with & a mind of thoughts & secrecy / things cannot be reversed / we learn from the times we are cursed / things cannot be reversed / we learn from ones we fear the worst & learn from the ones we hate the most_  
—daughter, ‘candles’

//

You’ve been helping Korra with calculating volume for about an hour and a half in the coffee shop, where you still come to do homework at least four times a week, but you keep getting distracted by her, because she keeps pushing hair behind her ear and biting her lip in concentration.

It’s getting colder, because it’s almost November, and you’re working on some new designs while she does her calc homework, which you check it after she’s finished. You’re in your glasses and a beanie and a big sweater—you’ve had a busy month, so you haven’t had it in you to try very hard with blazers and neat hair—and Korra’s in sweatpants and a university women’s soccer t-shirt and a pair of TOMS that she should really throw away; the playoffs for her are coming up, so she’s exhausted too.

You’ve spent the last thirteen days, though, learning how much you really  _love_ kissing Korra, which is partially why you’re as distracted right now as you are. She’s gentle and rough at once, muscled and feminine when you run your hands over her body. You spend a lot of time at your apartment, but you also kissed for a solid 45 minutes in the library the other day, and a few times you’ve kissed—and kissed and  _kissed_ —in her dorm and you’d definitely gotten  _sort of_ walked in on by Jinora, who just raised an eyebrow and said, “Korra, you have lipstick all over your face,” grabbed her book, and then left with a laugh.

So her friends know, and you’ve been to two more of her games, and you’re pretty sure her teammates know, too, and it’s kind of great that Korra kind of just  _came out_  without any fanfare, and her teammates, for as much as you can gather from how you watch her interact with them, are really, really wonderful.

But—“Korra?”

She looks up from her notes and you have to steady yourself because her eyes are wide and so blue and so concerned in a second, and all you want to do in this moment is kiss her. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” You shake your head quickly. “Definitely not.”

“ _O_ kay, then,” she says, sits back against the couch and tucks one leg underneath her so she can face you. Her hair kind of messily half pulled into a ponytail, still kind of wet from the shower, and it’s lovely right now. “Well then what’s up?”

You sigh. “Are we—what are we?”

Her brows knit together. “Uh, what?”

“Like, dating—are we—”

Korra tilts her head. “You’re my girlfriend,” she says, “or, so I thought. That’s what this is, right?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Yeah, yes, it is, that’s what it is.”

She laughs because you’re not very often flustered, and she leans forward to kiss you gently and quickly, then sits back again, swipes her thumb against your bottom lip with a smile when you frown. “Do you want to be exclusive?”

_Yes._ “Well—”

“Because I’d really like that,” she says, shrugging. “I really like  _you_.”

You smile and you kiss her and she laughs into your mouth and pushes you back gently. 

“Well if that’s all it would’ve taken to get a kiss like that I’d have informed you of our relationship a week ago.”

You shove her playfully and she grabs her shoulder like she’s hurt, giggling, and you say, “Okay, I just—I know you’re out basically and I don’t care because my dad already knows and the people in my program are great, but—just—I’ve never done this before, and I didn’t want to—”

“Asami Sato,” she says, leaning close to you and putting a hand on your knee, “you’re my girlfriend. I’m your girlfriend. We aren’t seeing other people. I’m very, very happy.”

You smile.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

She sits back and picks up her pencil. “Good, because I really have to finish this problem set.”

You roll your eyes and scoot closer to her, so the sides of your body are pressed together, and you don’t really sketch anything related to your classes—mostly just pictures of small, gentle, calloused hands, pretty eyes, and what you imagine to be a really beautiful heart.

//

Asami’s waiting for you after the game, and it was the quarterfinals, and you just  _won_ , and you wave to her, but you take your time answering questions from reporters—it’s your  _job_ , and you understand this—and you know by now to answer questions with as much positivity as possible.

But really—your team is playing  _wonderfully_ , and these aren’t easy games to win at all, and you definitely feel really, really lucky to have gone to this school.

Your favorite part of post-game stuff, though, is signing autographs—you try to get in as many as possible for about five minutes. You’re starting to become a really big deal, which is kind of scary, because people are going to know who you are, but, at the same time, it’s because of something good, something you love to do, and you’re kind of excited for that.

And then there’s Asami, waiting for you a little distance away from the crowd. Tonight she’s in a beanie and one of your long sleeved jerseys—you’d given it to her before the game because you weren’t wearing them tonight—and a pair of jeans, a solid pair of black boots.

She’s beautiful, like,  _really_ beautiful, and you realize very coherently that you are a very high-profile athlete and that there are about a million photographers  _right_ next to you, but Asami grins and says, “You were so amazing,” and then you’re kissing her.

She hesitates for a moment, and you pull away a little, although your arms are still wrapped around her neck. 

“Korra,” she says, looks over your shoulder, and you see a few camera flashes reflected in her pretty green eyes before she looks back down at you, “are you sure about this?”

You’re going to have to hold a press conference, and Asami probably will too, or at least release a statement, and Tenzin might be a little pissed off, but probably not really, because he’s really wonderful about increasing visibility for minorities—this might not be  _exactly_  what he meant—but. 

You kiss her again, and she doesn’t hesitate at all.

//

Asami  _slams_ you into the brick wall of her apartment after you walk back from the stadium, and you’re distantly glad that you have an easy training day tomorrow, mostly full of massages and stretching, rather than a tough one, because you’re kind of tired and you’re sure you’re going to have a bruise.

Or—many bruises, because Asami is sucking on your pulse point  _hard_ , and all other thought disappears. You get your hands underneath her jersey, scrape your blunt nails down her back, and she gasps against your skin and bites down on your shoulder.

It’s been 16 days since you kissed and you haven’t slept together yet—most of your kisses are sweet and lovely and only sometimes do they turn into making out, but tonight, Asami doesn’t want to seem to slow down.

Which is  _totally more than fine_  by you, but then you remember—“Asami,” you say and push her back. Her chest is heaving and her lips are swollen and her pupils are blown. “We have to—are you sure?”

She swallows and then nods, and you grin and tug on the bottom of the jersey, drag it over her head. 

She immediately reattaches her lips to yours and then you move to kiss her collarbone. “We need to—” you have to pause bc she’s squeezing your ass and  _fuck_ —“Asami, we need to talk about consent.”

“Okay,” she says, working your sweatshirt over your head and then kissing you again. 

“Okay,” you say, and she’s bringing her fingers to her jeans to undo the button, and she’s not making this easy. “Are you okay with fingers and mouths?”

She backs up with a laugh and then nods. “I am very much okay with those two things.” 

“Awesome,” you say, and she grins into a much softer kiss. You tuck some hair behind her ear and cradle her face in your hand.

She turns you away from the wall and you walk clumsily to her bed, and she pushes you back, and then she’s above you, lit kind of ridiculously well by the overhead lights, her black hair shining, her skin pale, her eyes so bright.

“What—what’s your safe word?” you ask.

“You’re so cute,” she mumbles and shakes her head, takes her hands off of where they were very passionately skimming your abs, then sits back and straddles your hips. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows and take a few moments to really  _look_ at her—she has this muscled line down her torso, much softer than yours, and this lacy red bra—you’re in a sports bra, because you haven’t quite grasped the appeal of lingerie until this moment—and you reach up and trace your fingers softly over the tattoo of a chrysanthemum on her ribs. She closes her eyes and sucks in a little breath and you take your hand away, and she nods and brings your palm to her lips, kisses in the middle.

“I don’t know, um, maybe dictionary?”

You smile and say, “That works. I’ll uh, um, how about goalpost?”

She laughs happily and says, “Perfect.”

She lowers herself back down and you adore the sensation of so much of your skin against the other, and then Asami’s hands are tugging your bra over your head more gracefully than you probably ever have in your life. She brings her mouth to a nipple and pinches the other between your fingers—you’ve done this with your shirts off, even, but never quite like  _this_ —and you gasp and then tug on her hair so she’ll kiss you again, and you struggle to unclasp the back of her bra for a few seconds before she says, “I can—”

“—I  _got it_ , Asami,” you say, and, satisfyingly, you do, flinging it aside somewhere in her apartment.

She reaches to tug off your sweatpants and your underwear in one smooth motion, and then she kind of stops, or slows down  _a lot_ , and for a moment you’re terrified, because she’s just  _looking_ at you, and then she swallows and kisses you very softly.

“I’ve never done this before,” she says, glancing away.

Which—what? “Like, with a girl or, uh, with anyone?”

“It’s not a moral thing or a big deal,” she says, “I just—you’re—I lo—you’re  _beautiful_.”

You smile softly and, while that’s a little unexpected—she’s Asami Sato and she’s like runway model gorgeous and so smart and so mature and  _really knows what she’s doing_ —you don’t care at all other than wanting to be as safe as possible. “Well, so far you’ve been doing great, so you know, just, keep it up.”

She smiles softly.

“Which is an ironic thing to say right now, because—you actually have  _nothing_ to keep up, which is kinda why I’m so into this at the moment.”

She flops down on you with a groan and says, “ _Korra_ ,” into your neck, but you start to laugh, and she does too, and eventually you end up kissing again, and then you get her pants off, and  _wow_ , then she has fingers pressed inside of you and you try not to shove her face into your crotch but  _fuck fuck fuck_ , and—you’d had sex with Mako, but not like this.

You come embarrassingly fast, but Asami wipes her mouth and looks at you with a very smug and delighted smile, and you laugh and say, “Come here, nerd.”

She lies down next to you and then  _licks_ her fingers, which—if you actually needed a significant amount of rebound time, now you definitely don’t.

You start kissing her again, and she shoves a thigh between yours, and she’s, like,  _soaking_ wet, which makes you feel all kinds of satisfied, and you just follow your instincts from there, let her lie down on her back when she flips you, and she sets the pace—which, admittedly, is a little frantic and almost desperate, and it’s sexy as hell—and you’re doing great with two fingers but then she tugs on your hair and you kiss her and smile and she gets out an, “If that’s okay  _please_.”

It’s more than okay—you’re a little surprised that you think she tastes as good as you do, but—she’s canting her hips into your hand and your mouth, and one of her hands is squeezing her own breast and her other is scratching what you’re sure are actual marks into your back, and it’s definitely the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

She comes fast too—which makes you feel accomplished—and you’re pretty sure she’s crying, but she doesn’t make a big deal of it so neither do you, even though you want to ask her—but then she tugs you up to her, very languidly pushes you onto your back, then curls up with her head against your chest.

Her breath evens out and you kind of wonder if she’s fallen asleep, but then she stirs a little against you and pats your stomach.

You laugh a little and ask, “So, how did it feel to lose your virginity?”

She snorts a laugh and says, “It was the best.”

You grin and kiss her forehead.

She runs her finger around one of your nipples and you try to stifle a moan, and then she says, “But I could stand to do a few more runs just to be sure.”

//

You wake up because she's tracing the tattoo on your back in the middle of the night, and you’re just groggy enough to not be annoyed that it’s apparently 4:12 am and you’re (sort of) awake.

“You okay?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Bad dream.”

You turn over, a little more alert. “Wanna talk about it?”

She shakes her head, settles into your chest again. “No,” she says, “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too.”

She smiles softly. “So—tell me about your tattoo.”

You laugh because apparently you’d kept forgetting. “Well, I went to boarding school when I was fifteen, for soccer stuff.”

She nods.

“Long story short—uh, girls there were bitchy because I was on scholarship and I’m not white and I’m not rich, and—you know, I have a pretty different culture too.”

She traces little patterns on your stomach and it makes you shiver. “Yeah,” she says, and it’s sad.

“So, when I was 16, I just got really pissed off one day, because they were either dismissing my culture or appropriating it, and I just—I was a little, um,  _spontaneous._ ”

She laughs and kisses just above your breast. “You? I can’t believe that.”

You swat at her hip. “So I sketched it out and went to a tattoo artist I looked up on google with decent reviews and asked for it on my back and here we are.”

She tips her chin up to kiss you and you can feel her smile. “What does it represent?”

Strangely, she’s one of the first people to ask you that—in high school, everyone had just acted impressed, because it was painful as hell and also it took three weeks to heal—three weeks you were playing soccer for hours a day, so it really wasn’t ideal timing, but whatever.

You scoot down so you can look at her, and you lace hands between your faces. “It’s um—there’s a spirit in our mythology named Raava. She’s the spirit of light,” you say, “and kind of like, the good of your ancestors, the legacy they pass onto you, to be kind and brave and balanced and to try hard to bring the world peace.”

She looks at you so, so seriously, and it makes you blush.

“It’s hard to explain in English,” you mumble, and she shakes her head.

“That sounds like a beautiful concept,” she says.

You smile a little. “Yeah, it’s—it’s important to me.” You’ve never really been that into spiritual aspects of your culture, but you like the connections it has to what you want to do in the world, how sometimes the myths and rituals are comforting, almost magical.

Asami nods. You kind of wonder if that’s something she won’t like, because she’s so logical, and there’s nothing particularly scientific about the idea of a spirit of light, but then she says, “I don’t understand it entirely, because I think above all else I believe in mathematics, but—balance, I do very much understand that.”

You can’t help but feel just really great, because Asami is beautiful and careful and very, very sad, you think, and you kiss her and then yawn.

“That boring, huh?”

You laugh and trace a hickey on her neck. “Your skin has evidence to the contrary.”

Her eyes get big for a second when she spots a hickey a little lower on her chest.

“There are, like, eight,” you say. “Sorry.”

“Are you really though?”

You laugh. “Of course not.”

She rolls her eyes and pushes against your shoulder so you turn over, and she kisses once in between the middle of your shoulder blades before tucking you to her gently.

“Thanks,” she says.

“For what?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Just—thanks.”

//

You convince yourself that you’re  _not_ being clingy after Asami has pretty much ignored you all day without any kind of warning, and really you’re just worried. A lot worried, because Asami has never done this before, and you’ve been dating for, like, a month and a week, and your National Semi-finals game is in two days, and you’re getting ready for midterms soon, and you’re stressed enough without adding worrying about your uncharacteristically unresponsive girlfriend.

So you grab a box of popcorn from the vending machine in your dorm and walk the few blocks to her apartment, stopping to smile in front of the streetlamp where you’d first kissed her for a few moments before you press the button so that she’ll buzz you up.

If she’s there, which—you have no idea if she actually is, but it’s the best guess you have.

You’re about to buzz a second time when a guy walks out of the building and you wait until he’s far enough away and then dash to hold the door open.

But it works, and you take the stairs two at a time to the third floor—Asami’s floor—and then knock on the big metal loft door. You wait about half a minute and you’re about to knock again when the door slides open a little unsteadily and then you see Asami—in underwear and an oversized t-shirt. Her hair is messy and she doesn’t have any makeup on, and you can  _smell_ the alcohol and cigarette smoke on her, and she’s definitely been crying.

“Sorry,” she says as way of greeting, kind of slurring the word.

“Asami,” you say, and she just kind of looks at you, her shoulders slumped.

“Sorry I didn’t answer.”

“That’s okay—just, can I come in?”

The more you watch her the more you want to cry, because Asami is usually so poised and even when she’s orgasming or just waking up, she’s graceful and so put-together. She stumbles a little to the side and waves you in, and then she closes the door and walks past you.

There’s something old playing on her phonograph—jazz, you think—and you follow her out to her balcony, where she curls up in a chair she’d apparently been in before, because there’s a mostly-empty bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and an ashtray on the little table next to it.

It’s freezing outside, and she has a  _t-shirt_ on, so you take your letterman jacket off and hand it to her. She stares at you for a few seconds before shrugging into it, and she closes her eyes a little before she lights a cigarette.

“Baby,” you say, and she takes a drag instead of looking at you, “what’s going on?”

She takes a sip of whiskey and then sits for a minute before she says, “My mom died when I was six.”

Your heart sinks and you sit down on the armrest and hesitantly reach out to touch her shoulder. She lets you. “I’m so sorry, Asami.”

“And—it was me and my dad,” she slurs, “for a long while and then—things started to get sort of weird, but—then I came out.”

You scratch her scalp and stay quiet, mostly because you have nothing to say, but also because you know she needs this space.

“Today’s my birthday,” she says after a few minutes of silence, so softly you almost don’t hear it. “I’m 20.”

“Asami,” you say, and you feel like a complete failure of a girlfriend, because she hadn’t told you and apparently you’d forgotten to ask. Usually Facebook reminds you anyway, but of course Asami doesn’t have one.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s—he didn’t even call. My dad didn’t even call.”

She leans into your side and you feel warm tears wet your shirt. She presses her face into your stomach and you rub her back.

“I got my mom presents on my birthday because, you know, she had me so she deserved a gift on this day—and now I don’t even—all I remember about her is that she smelled like flowers.” 

“Asami, I’m so sorry,” you say, and you feel like you’re at such a loss, because what else are you supposed to be able to say?

She shakes her head and sniffles, then stands a little unsteadily and stubs out her cigarette before facing you. “I didn’t want to bother you with this.”

“Asami, this isn’t—you should tell me these things, okay?”

Her eyes are wide. “You won’t leave?”

You take her hands and squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She smiles a little and her eyes start to well with tears and she whispers, “Then—I miss her.”

You nod and take her into your arms, and she cries. A lot. Wraps her arms around you and cries harder than you’ve ever really seen a person cry, and you’re sure part of it is because she’s drunk, but also because you can’t imagine that kind of loss, and you ache for her, because—Asami was  _six_.

She smells like cigarettes and whiskey and still, just barely, like her perfume, and you wait for her to calm down a little before you lead her inside and help her take your jacket off before slipping off your shoes and pulling back the covers on her bed, helping her climb in, get comfortable on her side, and you sit down by her, play with her hair.

She frowns when you don’t lie down with her, but—someone should probably watch her tonight, just in case she throws up, and you’re okay being that person, all things considered.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles again.

You shake your head, bend down and kiss her cheek. “Don’t apologize. It’s your birthday and—you’ll cry if you want to?”

She laughs a little and snot comes out of her nose, and you rush to get her a tissue before she wipes her nose and then flings it on the floor.

“Good thing you didn’t pick basketball as a career option.”

She rolls her eyes.

“And—we’ll throw you a little party soon or something, okay? You’re not a teenager anymore so we should celebrate that, at least.”

She smiles a little and says, “You’re the best.”

You sigh and play with her hair until she falls asleep. Asami’s beautiful, even after crying, without any makeup—a part of you thinks she’s a different kind of beautiful like this, because no one gets to see her this honest—and you figure that she probably deserves someone to care for her every now and then.

You go grab one of her Sato Industries tablets, which are all over her apartment, and open up Netflix, situate yourself against her headboard, and start  _Scandal_ , because you can probably stay up most of the night marathoning that—and, besides, you’d wanted to watch it anyway.

Asami’s breaths are deep and even beside you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me & more updates at possibilistfanfiction.tumblr.com. track [#korrasami uni au] for general update & [#korrasami uni fic] for chapter updates.
> 
> as of now, chapters will be posted every monday & saturday.


	4. i can tell you you’re a superstar (baby, you’re the rest of my life)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 4, or: they introduce each other to some people, & asami really likes motorcycles.

_you have loved, you have cared, you’ve been too good to me / i can’t try hard enough just to make you believe / it’s the life we’re living now / & it’s beautiful somehow_

—broods, ‘superstar’

//

You shiver as Asami traces a gentle line down your spine.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You roll over and she scoots so she’s close to you, and she laces your fingers together. She’s earnest and concerned and you can’t help but kiss her.

“I’m okay,” you say. “A little sad and pissed off but, you know, losing is—it’s not like we win every game in the world, I have a really long time to win more games.”

She smiles softly and skims a hand over your hip. She’s in a t-shirt and you don’t have anything on, and, yeah, you’d lost your semi-final game—it was close, and you’d scored a goal, but you’d had a few unlucky breaks, and sports sometimes just happen that way; you’ve lost before and you’re sure you’re lose again, but you love what you do.

“Plus, it’s just sports, and don’t get me wrong, I love sports and I think they can do important things but—everyone’s okay after today’s game, and that’s really what I care about, I guess.”

She stares at you for a few seconds, her eyes bright. “You’re beautiful,” she says, and it’s reverent, the way she whispers it.

“You know,” you say, a little sadly, and this is something you haven’t really told anyone: “I’m not really, like, you know, what people think is conventionally pretty or whatever—not like, like you.”

She frowns. “Well conventions of beauty in society are fucked up.”

You laugh a little and say, “I know. And it’s never bothered me too much but—what I mean is that I feel beautiful with you, because—you think I’m beautiful.”

You feel your whole body flush in embarrassment and you tuck your head into her shoulder.

“That came out wrong,” you groan.

She laughs and wraps her arms around you, tugs you closer. “No—that was actually pretty accurate, because I think you’re the most beautiful, mathematically well-proportioned human being on the planet, and I’m glad you think that I really do believe that—because I do.”

You shake your head and pull back a little bit so you can kiss her.

“You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

She nods. “I know.”

You snort a laugh. “Modest, too.”

She shrugs. “Can’t let all of this—” she gestures down her frame and then around her face—“go to my head, after all. I’ve hearts to build.”

You trace her eyebrow, then the shell of her ear, the soft hairs at the edge of her hairline.

She looks at you seriously and says, “I love you.”

It’s so natural, so easy, the way she says it, like she’s thought it her entire life, like it’s never been a question.

You kiss her until neither of you can breathe.

//

Your birthday party for Asami had been  _fantastic_ , even though it was a few days late. You’d had Jinora and Kai help you decorate your dorm, and you’d baked a (very messy and very not healthy) cake, complete with frosting and sprinkles, and Bolin and Opal had brought a few bottles of vodka. It’d technically been a surprise party, and Asami  _had_ been very surprised, but then she’d sat down on the floor by your bed and very quickly done a shot and then gladly joined in on a game of Cards Against Humanity, which—who knew Asami Sato was incredibly politically scathing while drunk?

Your friends adore her, though, you know, and you’re starting to think that they’re  _her_ friends too, or at least that she likes them a lot, because she’d laughed for hours and smeared cake all over you and then kissed it away, and she’d been so messy and young and  _happy_.

And right now she’s asleep, curled up behind you in your tiny dorm bed, her arms wrapped around you. You can feel her warm breaths on the back of your neck, and Jinora had gone home with Kai, and so it’s just you and Asami in your bed.

You’re still drunk—it’s, like, 3:47 am—but you turn over and shake her shoulder a little bit.

She blearily opens her eyes and mumbles, but you sit up, and, after waiting for a few minutes, she follows, grumbling.

She’s  _beautiful_  in the moonlight, you think, her black hair and pale skin contrasting more than usual, and her eyes are gentle and sleepy, and you brush back some of her hair and kiss her gently.

“I didn’t get to give you your present,” you say.

She groans and says, “Can it wait until morning? I think I’m too tired right now for sex.”

You laugh loudly. “Okay, well, we can count that as part of your present, sure, but—I have an  _actual_ present for you.”

“You—you got me a present?”

Your heart breaks a little bit because she sounds quietly surprised. “Of  _course_  I got you a present.”

You climb out of your bed and open your dresser drawer, take out the messily wrapped package, climb back in bed and hand it to her.

You’d been saving all semester, and you  _were_ planning on trying to save up enough for a laptop, but—whatever, you might get there eventually—and Asami opens the package carefully, trying not to rip the paper as much as possible. She pulls out a scarf which Opal had helped you pick at Zara. It was expensive and cashmere and  _huge,_ basically the size of a blanket, a pale grey with a black and maroon stripe running down the middle and around the edges, and—Asami already has scarves, you know, but—“I know I give you a lot of hickeys,” you say, “so this seemed appropriate.”

She laughs and tries it on, and she says, “I love it.”

“I know a scarf isn’t—um, super personal or anything, but I figured, you know—”

She leans forward and takes your face in her hands, “This is one of the nicest things anyone’s ever gotten me.”

You smile a little and kiss her gently, and you end up yawning, and she laughs and then takes the scarf off, gently folds it up, and tugs you down with her. You roll over and she says, very sleepily, “This has been my favorite birthday.”

//

You don’t  _care_ at all if you break something in your lab, because Korra had been so proud of you when you’d shown her, and apparently very turned on by you in your labcoat, and there are a lot of really advanced whirring machines in here, but nothing in your beakers right now is very important, and you’ve never had a quickie before—you haven’t mastered the concept yet—but you’ve managed to get Korra on top of one of the lower counters, and she’s kissing your neck, and you’re unbuttoning her jeans when you hear the lab doors slide open.

And then Varrick is saying, “ _Hello_ , Asami.”

You jump back and Korra looks incredibly confused for a second at the lack of contact but the sits up and tries to discreetly button her pants.

Zhu Li tugs on Varrick’s labcoat sleeve and says, “Sorry, Asami—we’ll, uh, we’ll just get going.”

“Oh no,” Varrick says, and you and Zhu Li both groan, “I want to meet Asami’s—uh—“

“Girlfriend,” you supply.

He nods delightedly. “Girlfriend! That’s great, Asami.”

You hadn’t really been worried about Varrick and Zhu Li at all—they’re scientists and they’re incredibly openminded and, despite that fact that you want to strangle Varrick half of the time, he and Zhu Li are both really, really good people.

You sigh and Zhu Li mouths  _sorry_ , and you shrug with a little laugh and run a hand through your hair.

“Korra,” you say, “this is Varrick, and this is Zhu Li. They’re third years in my program and they’re working on sorta the same stuff, but more for brains than hearts, but, yeah, materials and shit.”

Varrick laughs, then steps forward and shakes Korra’s hand. “It’s a little more complicated than  _and shit_ , but it’s  _great_  to meet you. Asami’s a bit of an enigma around here.”

Zhu Li pats Varrick’s shoulder and then shakes Korra’s hand too. “We are very glad to meet you.”

“You too,” Korra says. “I’m glad to meet some of Asami’s friends.”

They both smile—and, okay, they’re as close to friends as you have, so, it counts—and Varrick turns to you and says, “This is great—does Korra want to come with you to our Go tournament on Wednesday night?”

Korra’s brows knit together. “Go?”

“It’s, uh, like chess, kind of,” you say.

“Kind of?” Varrick almost yells, and Korra looks at you with an amused smile and then turns back to Varrick. “Go is  _much_ harder than chess, Korra, and your girlfriend  _could be_ internationally ranked—” he glares at you and you cross your arms, and Zhu Li laughs—“ _if_ she pursued it.”

“I don’t care about being internationally ranked in a  _board game_.”

Varrick looks incredibly offended, and Korra’s trying not to laugh.

“Anyway,” Zhu Li says, “we usually play Go on Wednesday nights.”

She looks at you and you feel bad, because you haven’t told her, but it was always when she had practice, but Korra just smiles gently.

“Well, I have no idea how to play, but my season just ended, so I’m free this Wednesday.”

She looks to you, questioning, letting you be able to say no, but—you actually  _want_ her there. “We’ll see you on Wednesday,” you say, and Varrick claps his hands.

“Fantastic! Korra, you can help Zhu Li and me, because the two of us together can’t beat Asami.”

Korra laughs. “I’m discovering she’s  _really smart_  more and more each day.”

Varrick and Zhu Li share a glance. Zhu Li says, “She is really smart.”

You look down with a little smile—the program is incredibly competitive, but they’re both kind.

Korra beams at you, and you take her hand.

Zhu Li seems to remember that Korra’s still on top of the counter, and she laughs. “Uh, so Varrick and I will go now. We’ll see you soon, Asami, and nice to meet you, Korra.”

Varrick nods at you both with a dorky salute and Zhu Li drags him out by the hand, and you feel a pit form at the bottom of your stomach when Korra hops down from the counter and crosses her arms.

“You never told me about Wednesday night Go parties.”

You stare down at your boots. “I didn’t—you had practice and—I don’t know,” you finish pathetically, then meet her gaze.

She uncrosses her arms and her eyes are soft. “Hey,” she says, “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

“Of course not,” she says. “Just—why didn’t you tell me?”

You sigh. “It’s—well, it’s  _dorky_.”

She tries not to laugh, but you still hear her giggle once. “Asami, honey, I think that ship has sailed.”

“It’s—it’s okay?”

She gives you a lopsided smile and moves to hug you, and you gently put your arms around her shoulders and bury your face in her neck. She always smells clean and gentle, like soap and fabric detergent and sometimes a little like grass. “Sweetheart, if being dorky was a turn-off for me, you’d have lost me at  _let me willingly help you with your Calc II homework_.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, and she steps back and then puts her fingers gently under her chin so you meet her gaze.

“I love your brain.”

You kiss her gently and nod.

She takes your hand and then asks, “So, how did you learn Go?” while you lead her out of the lab.

“My mom taught me,” you say, and you feel a little pang in your chest. “Or, she  _was_ teaching me, I guess, before she died.”

Korra squeezes your hand but she doesn’t say anything.

“But my dad and I kept playing,” you continue, “and I got pretty good at it. It’s kind of relaxing and fun. It’s, um—my mom and my dad are kind of from the Fire Nation originally, so I actually speak a few languages from there and stuff—like Go, it’s from there.”

She stops in the hallway and tilts her head. “Just casually—I speak a few more languages?”

You laugh with a shrug. “Well, you speak like three.”

“True,” she says, but, like—is there anything you can’t do?”

“Lots,” you say.

“I’m going to find them,” Korra says and then teasingly pokes your side. “So, wait,” she says, “this means you’re part Fire Nation?”

You nod. “Yeah, people always assume I’m just—you know, completely from the United Republic, but, yeah.”

“ _Cool_ ,” Korra says, and you wrap and arm around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head. You know it matters to her, because you’ve seen people look down on her because of her skin, because of her ethnicity, and it  _infuriates_ you, and people think very differently of you, and maybe you should start being more direct about your heritage.

“Yeah,” you say. “My mom was always pretty proud.”

She kisses your cheek and you walk a little bit in comfortable silence before she asks, “Will there be actual snacks on Wednesday, then?”

You laugh. “Yeah, Zhu Li’s a great cook, actually.”

She pats your stomach and says, “Good.”

//

“Asami, calm down,” you say, filling up a mug of some weird herbal tea for her and setting it on the table near her full-length mirror. She’s staring very critically at herself, checking her eyebrows for stray hairs? Maybe?

“But they’re your  _parents_ , Korra. It  _matters_ to me.”

You sigh and plop down on your back on her bed. “Asami, they’re going to love you. They  _already_ love you, okay?”

She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, then looks critically at herself. “Do you think I should put on a beanie?”

“Your hair is from a shampoo commercial.”

She frowns. “What about my piercings—should I take some of them out?”

You roll your eyes—Asami has, like, six little studs in one ear. “Asami, you’re perfect and gorgeous just like you are at this very moment.”

“But—I ride a motorcycle?”

You scrunch your nose—you’ve found out that she generally  _doesn’t_ only ride her bike on the track, and you assume she goes ridiculously fast, weaving in and out of cars, because Asami doesn’t drive  _anything_ like a safe, rational person. “I’m aware of this.”

She whirls around. “I just don’t want your parents to think I’m a  _punk_.”

She almost whispers the word in a horrified way and you burst into laughter.

You sit up and she pouts, and you try to stop laughing and pat the space on the bed next to you. She sits down next to you and you lace your fingers and bring your joined hands together, kiss the inside of her wrist. “Don’t forget—I know you have a bedtime,” you say.

She groans.

“So you’re not a punk, despite the fact that you want to look cool and rebellious.”

She scowls.

You kiss her forehead. “Baby,” you say, “you design hearts for little kids. You’re gentle and strong and so smart and kind. My parents already adore you, because  _I_ adore you, okay?”

She sighs. “Sorry—I just, I don’t have the best track record with parents.”

You squeeze her hand. “Asami.”

She sits up a bit straighter and says, “Okay, let’s do this.”

You laugh and walk over to her mathematics space to turn on her big desktop computer and open Skype. “Put a scarf on, though, you have like twelve hickeys.”

She blanches behind you and you laugh, and she quickly wraps a huge scarf around her neck, then checks again in the mirror.

“I have to pee!” she calls, and you roll your eyes but call your mom’s account anyway.

You’re laughing when your parents answer the call, and you wave. “Hi guys.”

“Hi sweetheart,” your mom says, and your dad waggles his eyebrows.

“So—where’s your girl?”

“She’s pretty nervous about meeting you so she’s peeing for like the fifth time in the past hour.”

They both laugh, and then you see Asami hesitantly standing at the corner of the space, a beanie perfectly placed on her head. One of her arms is tucked behind her, grasping her elbow, and she looks very, very small in that moment, draped in her scarf and her long black hair and a casual, threadbare black t-shirt. “Hey,” you say and wave her over.

She gives a nervous smile and then sits down in the chair next to you and then waves this tiny, quick thing to your parents.

“Hi Asami,” your mom says, smiling genuinely, and you’re always grateful for them, but especially right now. “Korra’s told us so many wonderful things about you.”

Your dad nods, and Asami visibly relaxes a little bit, and you squeeze her hand with a smile. “Korra,” your dad says, “ _way to go_.”

You blush  _hard_ in, like, two seconds, and Asami laughs a little bit, kisses your cheek, and then backs away and her eyes are wide with fear.

You pat her thigh as your mom  _aw_ s and your dad says, “I would give you the biggest high five right now if I could.”

You laugh and Asami softly says, “I’m really glad to meet you both. Korra is—” she shakes her head—“she’s one of the best people I’ve ever known, and I suppose I have you to thank for that in many ways.”

“Spirits, Korra,” your dad says, “did you pay her to say this stuff?”

“ _Dad_ ,” you say, and Asami laughs, and it’s genuine, just not as loud as normal—but it’s definitely something.

Your mom squeezes your dad’s shoulder and then says, “So, Asami, is this your apartment?”

“Oh—yeah. Um, I’d show you around if you wanted, but we’re on my desktop computer, but we can switch to a tablet if you want to see everything, but it’s really not that—”

“—We’ll show you next time,” you say and Asami sends you a grateful smile and then lets out a big breath, straightens her back a little bit.

Your dad nods, and your mom says, “Korra told us you’re getting your PhD in engineering?”

Asami sits forward and you know your parents have just won her over by even  _asking_ , and she says, “Yeah, I, um—I’m designing mechanisms for hearts, specifically pediatrics, lots of different ones—trying out new materials for safer and more durable synthetics, stuff like that.”

Your dad looks more impressed in this moment than you’ve ever seen him before, and you scratch the small of Asami’s back.

“It’s a lot of math and it’s kind of boring, I guess, but—”

“—That is pretty much the coolest thing I’ve heard,” your dad says, and Asami shoots you this little grateful, excited smile.

You bump her shoulder and say, “She also has tattoos and a really cool haircut and lots of earrings and rides a motorcycle and didn’t want you to think she’s a punk—which, I can promise you, she’s  _not_.”

Asami’s so red next to you, glaring, and you can’t help but laugh, and your dad is trying not to, you can tell.

“Well,” your mom says, “Tonraq had his wild days, and none of them involved getting prepared to run a company or getting a doctorate, so I’d say you’re  _great_.”

Asami slumps in her chair and rubs her nose, and you’re very concerned for a second, because—she’s probably about to cry.

You rub her back a few times and say, “So, Dad, how’s work?”

He smiles gently and Asami leans into your shoulder easily, listening intently as your dad describes a few problems he’s working to solve in your town, and your mom looks at Asami so fondly you kind of have a moment of clarity where you concretely think you could spend the rest of your life with her. Not that you’ve not vaguely considered it before, but this feels certain.

You wrap your arm around her shoulders and she sits up, offers some really solid business advice to your dad, who thanks her sincerely, and your mom starts telling a story about one time when you’d gotten lost on Naga a  _block_ away from your house—you were  _five_ —and Asami laughs—really, honestly laughs.

You kiss her unthinkingly, quick and completely without pretense, and when you turn back to your parents, they’re grinning.

“We already like her better than Mako,” your dad says.

“Hey—Mako wasn’t so bad!” you say.

“Well, Asami can’t get your pregnant, so that’s already a point ahead in my book.”

Asami bursts into a coughing fit and you say, “Oh my  _god_ , I never even was  _close_ to being pregnant,” while your mom says, “ _Tonraq_.”

“What?” he says. “It’s true.”

“What he  _means,_ Asami,” your mom says, “is that you are welcome in our home as family whenever you’d like, and we’re so happy for Korra.”

You’re really convinced Asami’s going to start crying now, and she nods. “Thank you, Senna.”

“And we’re happy for you, too,” your dad says, “because Korra’s a pretty awesome kid, all things considered.”

“She’s my favorite person in the world,” Asami says, like it’s the simplest thing she’s ever thought.

You squeeze her hand, and your chest is so warm and so full, and you have the fleeting thought that this might be the happiest you’ve ever been in your life.

Your mom launches into a story about how you used to get pumped up for games when you were younger—which, to be fair, hasn’t changed, but you’re not about to tell that to Asami—and Asami laughs happily the whole time.

//

It’s a bad day, mostly because you hadn’t slept well the night before—sometimes your dreams are drenched in blood, loud with gunshots, with your complete inability to move, with flowers.

Korra hadn’t been there, thankfully—she’d had an early practice, so she’d ended up sleeping in her dorm, because it was closer, and you ignore her good morning text and instead put on a pair of your favorite black jeans, your boots, a long sleeved sweater, and your motorcycle jacket.

You almost don’t put on your helmet when you get down to the garage under your building—you own, like, 75% of the spaces, but whatever, you pay the rent—but you actually do like your brain, so you wear it, and you try to coherently get your hair into your helmet enough so it won’t fly into your face.

You look at Korra’s sweet text again and shove your phone in your pocket, and zip up your jacket, start your favorite, fastest bike.

You love shooting through traffic, weaving, inches away from cars. It takes concentration and rhythm and a little bit of legitimate recklessness, and you’re usually not reckless at all.

You drive for an hour until you reach the edge of the coast, the cliffs that tower over the ocean. It’s windy and freezing and beautiful and terrifying, with the outcropping of rocks below, and you take your helmet off and smoke a cigarette while you lean against your bike, just watch for a few minutes.

But Korra’s sent another text when you check your phone, and you smile a little, because you’ve come to this spot a lot less—she’s safe, and you’re in love with her, and you think, pretty rationally, at this moment—you’d like to hold her hand for your relative infinity.

You ride just a little slower on your way back to campus, and you bypass your apartment to park near her dorm, take your helmet off and tuck your hair behind your ear as neatly as you can, and you unlock your phone and call her while you’re heading up to her room.

She answers on the second ring, and she rambles a little bit about how shitty a practice she’d had—she’d been feeling tired, because finals were coming up and she’s been really busy—and you say, “How about brunch?” at the same time you knock on her door.

“Yeah,” she says, “just—give me a minute, someone’s here.”

You smile and wait for her to unlock the door, and then she’s rolling her eyes with a grin and pressing up on her tip-toes and kissing you.

“Asami,” she says, running her hand through your slightly sweaty hair, “you’re a little early.”

You laugh and you sit on her bed while she tugs on jeans and boots and a sweatshirt with fur lining the hood, and then she puts on a beanie.

She frowns at you when she really looks at what you’re wearing. “Were you riding your bike?”

You shrug. “Just a little.”

She sighs. “Okay, well—let’s get some food.”

You appreciate the fact that she doesn’t lecture you— _again_ , because she already had a few times about the fact that you ride a motorcycle  _on the actual road_ —and you nod.

She touches the dark circles under your eyes with a gentle pad of her thumb and then raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

You take her hand and start to walk out of her dorm, wait for her to lock the door, and then you say, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

She looks at you critically, and you’re pretty sure she doesn’t  _really_ believe you, but she says, “So—I sucked ass today, so I say we get pancakes.”

You kiss the side of her head with a laugh. “Sure thing, babe.”

She grins. “Awesome.”


	5. there’s smashed glass glittering everywhere like stars (i owe you everything)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 5, or winter solstice presents & new year's eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: sex, cigarettes, alcohol.

**there’s smashed glass glittering everywhere like stars (i owe you everything)**

.

 _this is where the evening splits in half, henry, love or death. grab an end, pull hard, and make a wish  
_ —richard siken, “wishbone”

//

You actually have to go over to Asami’s to pack most of your clothes and toiletries, which strikes you as both sweet and funny and you kind of love it. She’s left the door unlocked, and when you get to her apartment, she’s trying to straighten a huge stack of papers enough so that she can fit them in a folder to put in her bag, and you stand and watch her for a few seconds before walking and putting your arms around her and kissing her shoulder.

She hums a little and puts the papers down, leans back a little into your embrace.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“Hi.”

She turns around with a little smile and when she kisses you hello quickly, she tastes like cigarettes and lipstick, and it’s heady and strangely wonderful—it’s  _Asami_ —but you frown a little when she goes back to trying to straighten her papers; you have no idea how much she smokes, because she’s only smoked a total of four cigarettes in front of you, but her clothes always kind of smell like them, and most of the time she tastes like cinnamon gum, and sometimes she tastes like coffee, and sometimes she tastes a little like the food you just had together—but sometimes she tastes like smoke.

But she smiles triumphantly and pumps her fist in the air when she fits her papers—crinkled and not very neat at all—in her bag, and you forget entirely and start laughing, wander over to her couch.

“Have you finished packing?” she asks, padding into the kitchen and taking two beers out of the fridge, holding them up in question.

You nod, and she opens them and then shuffles around in the fridge and emerges with a large tray of sushi, and you smile when she clumsily brings everything over the the big coffee table and hands you a beer with a kiss to the top of your head.

“Um,” you say, “no, because a lot of my stuff is actually over here.”

She takes a moment and then laughs, and she says, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

You smile a little and ready your chopsticks, dump some soy sauce on an unagi roll, and put the whole thing in your mouth. “Have you finished packing?” you ask around the roll.

“Mhm.”

She sounds a little sad. “You know, you’re still welcome to come home with me. It’s—a little messy and probably not what you’re used to, I guess, and it’s cold, but—”

She puts her hand against your thigh and says, “I’m okay. Spring break, okay?”

You nod—you’re both leaving for winter holiday tomorrow, and you’re spending the Winter Solstice in the South Pole, and she’s going back to Republic City, and she’s said it’s fine, but you’re pretty sure she has, like,  _no one_ to spend the day with, but you’ve offered enough times that you know by now to listen.

“Yeah,” you say, “spring break sounds great.”

She shoves a piece of tuna nigiri in her mouth kind of clumsily, and some soy sauce dribbles down her chin, and it’s absolutely adorable, and you put down your beer and kiss up her chin, then her lips. She laughs, tries to finish chewing, and then she kisses you back.

She scoots back, and she says, “So, since we’re leaving tomorrow, I have your present.”

“Yeah, I have yours too.”

“You didn’t have to get me a present,” she says softly.

Your brows knit together. “Of course I did.” You clap your hands and she laughs. “Now, come on, let’s exchange!”

She kisses your cheek and stands, walks toward the back of her apartment and rifles around in her wardrobe, and then comes back with a medium sized, thin package. It’s a little heavy when she hands it to you with a smile, and she looks confused for a second with you when aren’t handing her anything, but you say, “Mine is—I’ll need to get on your computer to give it to you.”

Her small smile blooms into a huge grin, and she says, “Open yours first then.”

You rip the paper excitedly, and you feel your eyes get big when you see a Sato Industries laptop, perfect and brand-new and shiny silver, with their sprocket logo on the top.

“I know you don’t have one,” Asami says, “and—you’re always welcome to use my stuff, but I thought, you know, you could use it in class and just not have to worry about flash drives, and please don’t think it’s too much, because I had a really fun time designing it just for you—it’s great for videos and animation for your bio classes, but it’s not super complicated, and—”

You shake your head and fight back tears. “Asami, no, this is—you  _designed_ it for me?”

She glances down at her hands and you smile a little when she nods.

“Thank you,” you say, tug her chin up with a gentle finger. “I love it. And it’s useful. And, just—thank you.”

She lets out a relieved breath and says, “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it, baby, and—it’s great, because we can use it for me to give you your present.”

She laughs and nods, and you put it down on the coffee table and open it. Asami blushes when the screen boots up and the wallpaper is a dorky selfie you’d taken earlier in the month, Asami kissing your cheek and her sunglasses on the top of your head, and her jaw is kind of spectacular.

She sits silently and patiently while you open your browser. “This is so fast,” you say, and she laughs.

“First of all, I pay good money for sufficient wi-fi, not like that shit at school. And secondly, I  _built_ that computer, what did you expect?”

You roll your eyes fondly. “Technology snob.”

“You mean  _Sato_ , I think. Birthright.”

You laugh and type in your 8tracks login, then click on the playlist that’s titled  _winter solstice <3_. It’s not very creative, you admit, but you’d spent  _hours_ on it, and you’d even made a little photoshopped cover—which, admittedly, is kind of so bad it’s funny, but it has a few pictures of you and Asami on it, so you figure she’ll appreciate it anyway—and then scoot the computer over to her.

“I, uh—I spent my scholarship money being able to go home for holiday, so, I made you a playlist.”

She’s scanning it critically.

“I know it’s lame, and, like—you built me a computer, which kind of worked out, though, because look, we got the playlist here!”

She turns toward you and kisses you kind of hard, and you laugh into her mouth. “I’ll make you all the playlists you want if you keep kissing me like that in thanks.”

She shakes her head and brushes your bangs back, then turns to press play.

Taylor Swift starts gently and Asami laughs, then starts kissing you again.

You pause for a second, because she’s laying you back on the couch, and you say, “I love you.”

She closes her eyes and swallows and when she opens them again, they’re shiny with tears. “Thank you,” she whispers, and then her lips are on yours.

They’re not exactly gentle, but sometimes Asami kisses hard enough to steal your breath, so you just tug her lip between your teeth and revel in her gasp.

Your hands find their way underneath her sweater, and when you gently scratch down her back, she murmurs, “Fuck yes, harder.”

You smile into her mouth and put more pressure as you drag your nails against her skin, and she moans into your mouth.

You stop only to tug at the bottom of her sweater, and she pulls it over her head and then runs a hand through her hair before pulling you up and spinning around so you’re pressed against the wall. She shoves a thigh between yours and leans into it hard, and you’re so overwhelmed by  _Asami_  that all you can do is let your body respond.

She pulls down your sweatpants and your underwear quickly in one smooth motion, and you step out of them while you’re still kissing her. The brick of her apartment wall hurts a little bit, but not really, and she’s kissing you hungrily, almost desperately.

She suddenly breaks contact and you’re left gasping a little bit, but then she comes back before you really even have time to process and holds up one of her strap-ons—black glass dildo, her favorite—and a leather harness that you’ve never used before.

“Fuck me,” she says, low and rough, and it’s a command but a question: you know that you can tell her no if you’re at all uncomfortable, but the ache between your legs and the throbbing from your core to the tips of your fingers picks up when you see it.

You nod and she hands it to you, and you put a hand on her shoulder while you put it on. You pull the harness snug and then she’s kissing you hard again, and when you bite softly into her bare shoulder, she says, “Again,” and you comply, because there’s a very noticeable hitch in her breathing and it’s one of the sexiest things she’s ever done.

You bite down harder and she arches into you, and you bend down a little bit to take one of her nipples into your mouth and pinch the other, harder than you really have before, and she wraps her hands in your hair and you  _know_ she’s going to be wet when you push her leggings down her thighs and run a finger through her folds, but she’s soaked, and you smile a little, because  _you_ did that.

“ _Fuck_ me, Korra,” she says, shakily but still with authority that you think has probably been burned into her bones from the minute she was born, and you know that’s her verbal consent.

“Okay,” you get out, and she nods shortly before kissing you again.

Your lips are swollen and you suck on her tongue before biting down on her bottom lip hard enough that she hisses, but you feel her smile, and then you put two fingers inside of her without warning, pounding the heel of your hand against her clit.

She moans loudly—and generally, Asami isn’t loud at all—and then you remove your fingers and run your hand along the length of the strap on, wetting it. She nods briefly when you make eye contact, and you press inside of her.

The first time you’d used a strap on two weeks ago, it was a strange—and awesome—experience, because beforehand you hadn’t really understood the appeal in  _wearing_ it; you certainly understood the appeal in penetration, though. But when you’d pressed the dildo inside Asami for the first time, you’d imagined it was fully connected to you, that you could feel her shake and slide and clench around you, and the base had pressed into your clit with this exquisite pressure.

And tonight isn’t different, because you guide the dildo inside her and she sighs and kisses along your jaw, then scrapes her teeth along it.

You press your hips forward once, and she slams hers into yours, and you meet her, after that, thrust for thrust.

“Holy  _fuck_ ,” she says, and you pinch a nipple and bite her shoulder and bring your finger to press harder and harder against her clit as you thrust—and you’re glad you’ve played soccer for years in this moment, because it’s taking every ounce of strength you have to stay upright, because you’re getting close too.

She comes not long after that, almost violently, and she’s completely undone and it’s by far one of the most striking things you’ve ever seen, and it only takes a few more thrusts for you to follow.

She breathes hard against your shoulder and you wrap an arm around her back, thrust a few more weak times to bring you both down, then lead her back to the bed.

She smiles at you and tries to catch her breath, and you trace her swollen lips which are almost bruised.

“ _Wow_ ,” you say, your heart still pounding. There are actual bite marks on her shoulder and a few hickeys, and she gives you a small smile.

“Yeah,” she says. “Wow.”

You laugh and squirm out of the harness, shuffle around for a few minutes and grab a few things from your drawer to toss in your duffel bag while she watches from the bed, and then you take your tshirt off and pull back the duvet.

Her eyelids are drooping and she stands for a moment to pull her side of the duvet down before climbing in again, and when you lie down on your back and she curls up against your side, her head on your chest, you feel a little uneasy, although you’re not sure why—probably just the thought of going home, of Asami spending the solstice by herself.

You play with her hair a little and ignore the pit in your stomach, kiss her forehead, and fall asleep.

//

You don’t bother putting on pants, mostly because that would require coordination that you most likely no longer really possess, but also because there’s no one here to even care; you’re technically “not welcome” in your home in Republic City any longer—your  _father’s_ home—but he’s in the Fire Nation for Winter Solstice, and you’d made sure all of your employees had gone home to be with their families; you don’t want them to be here so you don’t have to be alone.

Your childhood bedroom is strange to be in—it’s kind of ornate and plush, different from your stripped-down loft. It smells unused, which it is, even though there’s no dust. Your old drafting desk is neat and clean, and your drawers are tightly closed, not stuffed full of a mix of cotton boy shorts and lace thongs—Korra’s started doing her laundry sometimes at your place, and it’s just easier. It doesn’t smell warm, doesn’t smell like soap and coconut shampoo and grass and mint toothpaste. There are no soft, worn navy blue hoodies messily slung over an arm of your couch.

There’s no Korra.

There’s no one.

However, if there’s one thing you and your father share, it’s your taste in alcohol, and you have no problems breaking into his safe and getting out a bottle of your favorite scotch. You don’t bother with a glass, and you find a lighter in the pocket of your motorcycle jacket.

You’d been padding around in underwear and a big sweater and a beanie and your glasses, and you think, now, that you really want to go outside on your balcony, because it’s snowing, because it’s Winter Solstice and the city is completely drenched in dancing lights, drowning out the stars. Korra’s sent you snapchats all day, and she sends you another—a selfie with her  _huge_ dog, Naga—but you’re about a third of the bottle in, and you’re pretty sure you shouldn’t respond at the moment.

You take the bottle and your cigarettes and head onto the balcony, stumbling a little while you try to open the door. There are a few bruises left from the other night with Korra, and you try to tell yourself, especially now, especially with sweet, burning scotch in your throat, that it’d felt as good as you’d wanted it to, and you slide down the collar of your sweater and look at the faint, purple-blue remnants of her teeth.

You miss the warm cave of her mouth, and you miss her hands, and you miss her strong, fearless back, her big, young, warm eyes. Kind of distractedly you realize that it’s  _cold_ outside, and that there are snowflakes catching in your hair, but you’re warm with alcohol in your blood and hot smoke in your lungs.

You don’t know how long you stand outside, but it’s blurry and beautiful, and you don’t wonder, sometimes, why you’ve fallen in love with engineering: in the city, in the lights and the buildings and the brave all-night-electricity, the stars have been brought down to your will, humming with a pulse you love in bodies.

You’re startled when your phone rings, but you wander inside your room and clumsily find it and smile when Korra’s smiling face lights up your screen. You slide your finger to answer, and you wander back outside and say, “Hi.”

“ _Hey,_ ” she says, and there’s some commotion in the background, but she sounds happy, which makes you smile despite the ache in your chest. “ _Happy Winter Solstice,_ ” she says.

You laugh, which makes the city spin a little bit, so you sit down on a chair—which has snow on it, but it’s kind of too late at this point. “Happy Winter Solstice for the twelfth time today, sweetheart.”

“ _Yeah, yeah, I just miss you_.”

“Miss you too,” you say, then take a little drink.

“ _Asami,_ ” she says, “ _are you drunk?_ ”

“A bit,” you say—lie, because you know you’re  _really_ drunk.

Korra booms a laugh. “ _Me too!_ ” she says. “ _My whole family is here and my uncle brought some alcohol that’s like—_ whooo.”

You smile and say, “Yeah?”

“ _Mmmmmhm_ ,” she says. “ _Also Mom and Dad say hello._ ”

“Tell them hello for me.”

She pauses and you can picturing her nodding, which makes you feel warmer in your chest than you have all day. “ _Asami?_ ”

“Yeah?”

“ _Are you sad?_ ”

It hits you hard enough to take your breath away, because— _yes_ , right now, you kind of are. “I’m okay,” you say.

Korra sighs. “ _Good, because today’s a great day, and I never want you to be sad, because I love you a lot_.”

It helps, and you trace a little pattern on your thigh, then tuck the phone between your ear and shoulder and light another cigarette before holding the phone again. “It’s snowing here,” you say.

“ _Here too, but—obviously_.”

You take a drag with a laugh. “Is it cold?”

“ _Well—yeah?_ ”

“You sure about that?”

“ _Yes_.”

You laugh. “Hey Korra?”

“ _Hmm?_ ”

“I love you too.”

She sighs happily and then you hear a loud crash in the background and then Senna shouting something in Korra’s native language, and Korra laughs and says, “ _My cousin just knocked something over so I’ve got to go, but I hope your night’s okay._ ”

“Okay,” you say, and your chest hollows out for no real reason. “Have fun with your family.”

“ _I will_ ,” she says. “ _Love you, baby._ ”

“Love you too.”

“ _Oh, and Asami? Put away your cigarettes._ ”

You laugh and grumble, “Fine.”

“ _See you soon_ ,” Korra says.

“Yeah, see you soon.”

She hangs up and you press your phone to your forehead. There’s a half-smoked cigarette in your hand and you stare at it for a few seconds—the lit tip dancing like the lights and the stars and the pulse of a heart, of life—before wiping icy, silent tears from your cheeks and putting it out in the snow.

//

“Come  _on_ , Asami,” you whine. Bolin and Opal are currently dancing in the center of her loft in front of her couch, and Kai and Jinora are making out in the corner of the kitchen, and you really want to do either of those things—or both—but Asami’s just kind of standing and nodding her head a little bit.

She’s  _beautiful_ , and it’s New Year’s Eve, and you can’t help but stare at her in ripped tights and this pretty, short black dress, red lipstick, tall, graceful heels, her hair waving grandly over her shoulder, holding a scotch glass. She’s one of the most exquisite things you’ve seen—you love Asami in sweatpants—especially your sweatpants—and a messy bun and her glasses, absolutely—but tonight, you’re kind of amazed that she even wants to be with you at all.

But you had borrowed one of her blazers—it’s a little long, but it fit your shoulders okay—and you’d worn a loose, silky white blouse and your nicest pair of pants, which your parents had gotten you for Winter Solstice—along with the one pair of heels you own, which you’d taken off pretty soon after you’d gotten to Asami’s apartment, which you’d decorated together earlier in the day.

She’d visibly  _gulped_ when she’d seen you, and you’d felt super satisfied, because you’d even put on mascara and a little bit of lipgloss, and you make a mental note to try to invest in a blazer of your own, because apparently Asami liked you in a suit.

But right now she’s just leaning against the wall in the kitchen, staring at everything a little bit. She’d decorated with a few elegant  _Happy New Year_  decorations and a lot of fairy lights, and her apartment was kind of fabulous, even more now, and she’s ordered pizzas and had hummus and pita and had  _terrifyingly_ made guacamole, cutting the avocados with this huge knife a little carelessly as you mixed in the salsa and put some chips in bowls. But it all turned out wonderfully—Jinora and Kai had brought a fruit and cheese platter; Opal and Bolin brought a big chocolate cake—and you’d been so thankful for her for letting you have the party at her place; you’d have had one anyway, but this is  _way_ nicer than cramming into your dorm.

You’re about to literally tug on her hand so she’ll come dance with you when you hear a crash from the kitchen and then see Kai and Jinora scoot away quickly from a glass they’d knocked over.

//

You just don’t want anyone to step on the glass, even though Jinora tells you that Opal’s getting the vacuum and that you really don’t need to pick it up.

But the shards are kind of rough and scratchy in your palm, and Korra had taken off her heels, like, as soon as she’d gotten to your place—but  _fuck_ , Korra in a suit—and you’re just concerned for her safety.

You keep picking up the pieces, and the palm of your hand is starting to feel heavier, and when you look around, you notice that you’ve basically gotten the big pieces, and so you stand up and walk over to the trash. Opal brushes past you and plugs in the vacuum, and then you’re in front of the trashcan and you stare at the broken glass in your palm, reflecting, pulsing with the remnants of fairy lights all around your place. You wonder for a flash—so briefly—what would happen if you closed your hand around them—but then Korra’s hand is on your shoulder.

“It’s getting close to time,” she says. “Just toss that and let’s go dance!”

You smile and dump the broken glass in the trashcan, and then you follow her to the middle of your apartment. A slow, soft song comes on, and she loops her arms around your neck, and you pull her close.

“This is my favorite end of a year ever,” she says, and her breath smells heady like vodka, and you smile and say, “Me too.”

And then the ball is dropping steadily on TV, and Bolin is counting down  _really_  loudly, and Korra stands to your side and takes your hand.

She cheers for a moment before she turns to kiss you, and she mumbles, “Happy New Year, Asami.”

You kiss her again and say, “Happy New Year.”

She smiles into your mouth and her hand is still soft and gentle in yours, and you forget all about the lure of your blood against the shatters in your kitchen; the lure of shatters themselves.

The stars outside are bright tonight, and Korra’s breath drifts into your lungs, and time is all fathoms, and you don’t smoke at all.


	6. don’t you know that the kids aren’t all right (empty your sadness)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 6, or: asami is really hot, & korra has quite the birthday.

_and in the end/ i’d do it all again/ i think you’re my best friend/ i’ll be yours/ when it rains it pours_

—fall out boy, ‘the kids aren’t alright’

_//_

She’d  _promised_ to be on time, and, okay, it’s not that you don’t understand that Asami really is busy—she’s starting her semester, lecturing for an undergrad Materials class, trying to organize a bunch of yearly deadlines for her branch of Sato Industries—but still, this is important to you, because she’s never really meet your teammates before outside of casual post-game stuff, and tonight is a little celebratory banquet for the end of the season and the beginning of spring training.

You’re waiting outside of the bar for her, and you’ve been waiting for  _twelve_ minutes, and, honestly, it’s 8:42 pm on a Friday night, and you know she doesn’t have any plans tonight, and you’re just about to call her again when you hear her bike, and then she comes  _flying_  down the street, slowing just enough to swerve to a stop in front of the bar and quickly putting down the kickstand and then sliding off, taking her helmet off and shaking her hair out.

Admittedly, it’s sexy as  _hell_ —everything about Asami is sexy as hell, really—but something about it irks you, mostly because, really, you’re careful with your body; it’s your career, but you also love the feeling of those last five minutes of a game, the exhaustion pressing against your muscles, teeming along your skin, the burn of breath, the way it feels to hit a ball from 25 yards perfectly with no spin, the sting on your top of your foot, the strain on your knee, the knowledge that it’s such a clean shot it’s a goal before you even look up.

You  _love_ what you can do with your physicality.

And Asami is sexy—thin, light, but still athletic and strong; apparently, riding a motorcycle like she does is ridiculously effective exercise—but she’s also beautiful and brilliant, and you don’t understand why she does certain things that put her at risk like they do. Even if they’re sexy.

Which they are.

You watch her lock up her helmet quickly on the back of her bike and then she stuffs her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, and you roll your eyes and call out to her before she can grab a cigarette—which you  _know_ are in there.

She smiles and walks toward you happily, and it frustrates you even more, but you accept her gentle—and, thankfully, cigarette free—kiss, and she says, “I’m so sorry I’m late—Zhu Li exploded some stuff in her lab while I was in there and we had to take all of these contamination precautions and shower there in  _our clothes_ so I had to go home and change, but I got her as soon as I could.”

You sigh—now you feel bad for being angry at her for seemingly purposefully forgetting or being late, and really, she’s only fifteen minutes late, which is kind of sweet, because that was probably a significantly long detour, which meant she’d set her schedule to make sure she was going to be early for this.

“That’s okay,” you say, and she unzips her jacket as you walk inside, shrugs out of it and then slings it over her shoulder, and she’s in a tanktop and black skinny jeans and her boots, and her hair is waving from drying from the shower, and she has smoky eyeshadow and red lipstick, and you suddenly feel much less annoyed than you did before. You’d worn one of your nicer shirts and tight jeans and some boots you’d gotten from your aunt and uncle, and Asami runs her hand down your back and then rests it just above your ass, and you’re pretty proud, because she’s your  _girlfriend_.

You grin at the thought—your teammates  _know_ , of course, but post-game stuff is pretty structured, and Asami doesn’t really come to your practices or anything, and your meetings during the season are all really serious and everyone is really busy, but your schedule is a little lighter now.

You walk up to your goalkeeper, Amy, and her boyfriend, Andy, and they both wave a little bit. Amy’s one of your best friends on the team; she’s tall and strong and has really, really pretty, dark skin and great eyes and dreadlocks—which you think are, like,  _really_ cool—and you don’t really know Andy, but he’s pretty cute, and so far he’s been really nice, buying you all your first round of beers.

“Hey guys,” Amy says, then gestures to the bench across from them in the booth, and you slide in first and Asami follows, immediately scoots close to you without any sort of hesitation; you hadn’t “officially” come out to your teammates, they just knew you were dating Asami, but no one has really even asked about it or anything, and Amy and Andy aren’t acting any different at all, and you hand’t expected anything other than that from them, but still, it’s really cool.

“Hi,” you say and wave your hand around to kind of point to all of them. “Asami, this is Amy, our goalkeeper, and her boyfriend, Andy. And, guys, this is Asami.”

Asami reaches out and shakes both of their hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Amy says. “Korra talks about you all the time.”

“I do not,” you grumble, your cheeks flooding with heat.

Asami laughs. “I talk about her all the time too so that’s probably fair.”

You smile at her, and she kisses your cheek, and Andy asks, “Asami, do you want anything to drink?”

She looks at your drinks and says, “A beer’s fine for now.”

You scratch her back a little absentmindedly as Andy climbs out of the booth to go get another beer for Asami.

“So,” Amy says, “Korra says you’re in the biomedical engineering department?”

Asami immediately perks up a little, and you really love Amy a lot in that moment, because you’ve only mentioned this a few times, really.

“Yeah,” Asami says, “I’m getting my PhD. Are you—are you in the undergrad program?”

Amy laughs. “Oh no, I’m majoring in history and foreign languages, but one of my brothers is an engineer in the Earth Kingdom.”

Asami says, “That’s great. There’s some amazing infrastructure in Ba Sing Se.”

You chuckle a little when Amy throws you a glance.

Asami blushes and says, “But, that’s kinda boring.”

Amy shakes her head. “It’s really not, I just don’t have any clue what you’re talking about.”

Asami shrugs and sits back. “That’s okay.”

“But,” you say, “Amy’s really into  _Scandal_  too, babe.”

That sets Asami  _off_ , because she  _loves_ Scandal, and Andy comes back with four shots of tequila and another round of beers for all of you, and Amy and Asami discuss theories about fictional politics for about ten minutes while you and Andy look on and laugh, because they’re both really excited, and then you do your shots.

A few more of your teammates come and join you, and then you find a bigger booth, and Asami does a few more shots, but so do you, and she kisses you sloppily sometimes, and it’s fun and young and the pit at the bottom of your stomach is very, very small.

Your teammates love her, as do their partners. You go to play darts with a few of your defenders and Asami declines, instead jumping into a conversation with a few of your teammates’ boyfriends about cars, and by the time you finish two games of darts and look back to their booth, Asami is lifting her shirt up and they’re all comparing tattoos and then  _high-fiving_ , and it’s really adorable.

You play another round and when you look back, you don’t know where Asami and two other guys are, because apparently they’ve disappeared, and you frown and wander over to where they were.

“Where’s Asami?” you ask Andy.

“She and a few guys went outside,” he says with a shrug, then takes another sip of something.

You sigh and make your way to the front of the bar, and you’re not surprised that when you go outside, Asami and three guys are smoking cigarettes and she’s showing them her bike.

“Asami,” you say, and your voice is sharper than you mean—because, really, she’s happy and smiling and drunk and this is really harmless, and she’s getting along with your teammates and the people that are important to them, so you  _should_ be happy with the way the whole night’s turning out, but still.

She snubs out her cigarette on the bottom of her boot and then walks over to you and tosses it into the trashcan. Her eyes are wide and honest and so, so green. “Is everything okay?”

You sigh. “Yeah,” you say, then trace the line of her jaw and then cup her cheek gently. Sometimes she’s so sad you don’t know what to do—but she isn’t right now, and you’re both drunk, and you smile at her and say, “Everything’s okay.”

She matches your smile and then kisses you. It’s gentle at first, and then it’s deeper, and she loops her arms around your neck, and you bury yours in her hair, and your head floats a little, and the air around you is cool but she’s  _so_ warm, and you kind of forget where you are until a few guys are good-naturedly whistling behind you, and you laugh a little into Asami’s mouth and then she turns around and flips them off with a laugh.

You all go back inside, and you have one more drink and then Asami calls a car to take you home—and she also calls cars for all of your teammates who need them, which makes your heart feel really, really big for a minute—and when yours gets there Asami gives a few of your teammates and their partners legitimate hugs, and then she  _fist bumps_  with a few of the guys you were talking to, and it’s almost unbearably cute. She takes your hand and then clumsily slides in the car before you, and your driver takes you to her apartment quickly, Asami resting her head on your shoulder.

She tips your driver with a shake of her head and an, “I’m technically all of your bosses’ boss and you were great tonight,” and he laughs and accepts it and then makes sure you get into the building okay—it takes Asami a few tries to get the front door unlocked, but she manages. You take the elevator to her floor and then once she gets her apartment door open, you try to kiss her  _hard_.

She kisses you back softly, though, and when you start unbuttoning her pants she stills your hands.

You pout but you stop immediately, and she kisses you with a little laugh.

“I’m too drunk,” she says, and you nod.

You kiss her quickly and then you both get dressed in pajamas clumsily, almost toppling over a few times, and climb in bed. She snuggles into your chest, and you realize that you are also  _very_ drunk, because you keep rubbing the shaved part of her head—it’s so soft, whatever—which makes her laugh, and then she kisses above your left breast and scoots up so that her gaze is even with yours.

“I love you so much,” she says, so softly, so seriously.

“I love you too.”

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m sorry that—I, um, the holidays are hard but I’m going to be better now.”

“Asami,” you say, but she shakes her head.

“I just—I’ll be better. I love you.”

“Sweetheart,” you sigh, but she kisses you gently and then situates herself against you chest again and closes her eyes.

“I love you too,” you tell her again, and you make sure she falls asleep before you let yourself close your eyes.

//

You wake up and try to pad around as quietly as you can, hanging up streamers and getting a few balloons from the garage that you’d kept there the night before. It’s early—way earlier than Korra wakes up—and the you get the cake you’d had to hide in your laundry room and put it on the island in the kitchen, then carefully put twenty candles in the icing. You look around and everything looks pretty good, or, you guess, good enough for 8 am on a Sunday morning, and it’s snowed outside, and Korra’s sprawled on her back, her bangs messy and the rest of her hair splayed out on the pillow, dark contrasting the white fabric, and her skin is smooth and lovely and perfect, and you really should get her to wear more charcoal grey like the t-shirt of yours that she’d thrown on last night, because it’s such a great tone on her—and her nose is cute and her lips twitch a little, and you have to fist your hands for a moment because never in your life have you ever felt this—for yourself, for math, for another person.

And, you know—sometimes your lungs burn too much and you have to smoke to make sure you’re breathing, so you can see evidence; you ride your bike too fast because you feel the tingle of life that sometimes eludes you; on rare days you get migraines and you can’t get out of bed for hours, trying to look at anything other than light.

But Korra is warm and safe and gentle and strong, and today’s her birthday—well, kind of, because Korra’s birthday is February 29, and this year isn’t a Leap Year, so technically today is March 1, but—whatever, it’s as mathematically close as you can get.

You put on a party hat—purely to make her laugh, because the string keeping it on your head is  _really_ not doing wonders for your chin and your glasses are digging in behind your ears—and then sit down in bed beside her and gently run your hand through her bangs.

She squirms a little and then mumbles something unintelligible, and you laugh a little before leaning down to kiss her gently. She sighs into it and eventually opens her eyes, and then she sees your birthday hat, sits up and takes in all of the decorations, and then tackles you in a hug that almost makes you fall off the bed with a laugh.

“Happy birthday, baby,” you say, and she kisses you again and then excitedly puts on the other party hat you hand her.

“Thank you!” she says excitedly, and she’s smiling so wide sometimes you wonder why you ever feel as sad as you do sometimes—you have friends and a place you can finally call home, work and school you love, all of the financial safety you could ever dream of, and you have  _Korra_.

“You’re welcome,” you say, and then stand and tug her up from bed. She’s pouting and she tries to pull you back down, but you shake your head with a laugh. “Later. I promise.”

She’s sulking a little but she shuffles behind you into the kitchen and when she sees the cake on the counter, she lets out another excited noise. You’re having a bigger party with some of her teammates, and Bolin, Opal, Jinora, and Kai tonight at her favorite bar, but this is just for you two, because this is quickly becoming your favorite day of the year.

It’s Sunday morning, and you usually make chocolate chip pancakes together on Sunday mornings—or, really, Korra makes them and you sit on the counter and play as many explicitly dirty songs on your Spotify through a really expensive sound system of speakers all over your apartment and see how long she can go without spilling batter everywhere—but this is her  _birthday_ , and the cake is chocolate chip anyway, so you figure this will become a great tradition too.

Korra sticks a finger in the frosting while you’re getting a lighter and then smears it across your lips before you can even do anything, and you spend a few minutes letting her kiss it away—you don’t mind, you have the whole day off, and you’d stayed up  _way_ past your 10:45 pm bedtime until 2:56 am on Wednesday night so that you wouldn’t have to do any work at all today—so you have plenty of time.

But finally you push her back a little and take the lighter and say, “There’s twenty—one to grow on, you know.”

She smiles and nods, and you light the candles carefully and as quickly as you can so that the wax doesn’t met onto the frosting, and then you sing happy birthday quietly, and Korra plays with your fingers the whole time.

She blows out the candles with one huge and very passionate breath—it takes her a little wheeze to get the last one out, which makes you laugh—and then you ask, “Did you wish?”

“Yes,” she says, “But I can’t tell you or I’d have to kill you.”

You laugh. “I don’t think that’s the saying.”

“Whatever,” she says with a wave of her hand as you take out a knife and cut two slices, slide them onto small plates, and hand Korra a fork with a raised brow, because she’s already starting to pick the piece up with her hand.

She takes it with an eye roll and then makes a big show of cutting off a huge bite, but then she moans a little when she starts chewing. You’d gotten it from the bakery in town with the highest reviews on Yelp and Urban Spoon and a recommendation from your favorite chef in Republic City.

“So,” she says around another bite of cake, “you’re actually eating something bad for you— _first thing in the day_?”

“Yes,” you say.

“That’s it?”

You shrug. “I love you.”

She laughs. “Is that your answer to everything?”

“It’s infinity so—in a way, yes.”

//

You’ve almost cried, like, seven times today—once because Asami got you cake for breakfast; twice because you’d taken so many secret pictures of Asami in a t-shirt and glasses and bed head with a  _party hat with unicorns_  on it and those are priceless; three times because she’d denied you an orgasm for a  _long_ time and then  _finally,_ you’d had, like, the best orgasm of your life—but now you’re  _actually_  crying, because Asami’s quietly sitting next to you on the couch in her apartment, and you’re a little drunk because you’d just gotten back from your party with your friends, and she smells like smoke and flowers and rain tonight—the little drops had gotten caught in her hair—and she’d just pressed a simple set of keys into your hand.

It isn’t that big of a deal, really, because half of your clothes are mixed in drawers with hers, and you spend three or four nights a week sleeping over at her apartment anyway, but for some reason it seems really, really big.

She takes a little shaky breath when she sees you crying and says, “Please tell me these are happy tears and that I didn’t just  _really_ fuck up, because I have alternative presents if I need them, I promise.”

You laugh and turn and kiss her hard and soft and try to take in all of her at once—her hair and her skin and the texture of her eyelashes and the fact that when she sighs into your mouth you know her air is now in your lungs, and she laughs a little and murmurs, “I guess that’s a no to the back up gifts, then.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, and you feel her smile.

“Isn’t that usually my line?” she asks, but she lays you back against the couch with a wicked grin and then leans down and whispers into your ear, “I’m going to fuck your pussy so hard you won’t be able to move.”

You groan—Asami says some unexpectedly  _filthy_ things on occasion, and apparently this is one of those occasions.

She takes the keys from your hand gently and puts them down on the hardwood table, and she looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Fuck yes,” you say, and she smiles.

“Beg.”

“What?”

“Beg me.”

You press your head into the cushion and take a deep breath, because Asami seems to continuously get impossibly hotter, and she’s skimming her fingers along the edge of your waistband, and you have no dignity left anyway.

“ _Please_  fuck me.”

She grins and pops the button on your jeans, and it’s a  _really_ , really good birthday.

//

Korra (8:21 am):  _Good morning!!!! <3_

Asami <3 (8:21 am):  _good morning sweetheart_

Korra (8:21 am): _Hey, can I swing by to see you before the game?_

Asami <3 (8:21 am):  _sure :)_

Korra (8:21 am):  _Cool see you soon then_

//

You’d gotten kind of pissed off at her, because she’d ridden her motorcycle  _way_ too fast the day before—which you know because you’d seen her  _fly_  into a parking spot outside of your dorm—and you don’t really understand why she does shitty things for herself on occasion, but today’s your second friendly match, and you always play terribly when you go into matches angry, so you stop by her apartment before you have to head to the stadium.

She opens the door in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved jersey of yours, her hair drying naturally from the shower, and you can’t help but smile.

“Hey,” she says, “what’s up?”

You give her a quick little kiss and shrug. “I just—I was distant yesterday and I’m sorry and I love you.”

She looks down and swallows. “Look, I—I know I’m not always—I just—I  _am_  trying.”

You sigh. “I know.” You take her hands and step closer, and she meets your gaze, and you smile a little and then lean forward and bite her nose gently.

She yelps and jumps back and you start laughing—kind of hard, because Asami without composure is one of your favorite things on this planet.

“ _Korra!_ ” she splutters, her hands cupping her nose, which you know for sure you didn’t hurt  _at all_.

You can’t stop laughing, and she warily lets you come closer to her.

“This is—my  _face_ , Korra.”

Asami is so smart and so talented and sometimes it’s your favorite thing on earth that she has such certain moments of vanity, and your laughter becomes a little gentler and you pull her hands down from her face slowly. “There’s not even a mark,” you say, and she lets out a sigh.

You kiss her then, tangle your hands in her hair and she loops hers around your neck, and you feel much, much better.

You sigh after a little while because you have to be at the field by 9:15, and she kisses you once more and then says, “Break a leg, superstar.”

You roll your eyes and walk out the door, then turn around a little bit down the hallway. “See you there.”

She nods. “See you soon, babe.”

//

You go into a tackle, and it’s clean but rough.

You  _hear_ your knee snap before you feel it, and for a few fleeting, pain clouded seconds when you go down, you think that maybe this is just another bruise, this is just a strain, just your inevitable tendonitis flaring up again. The game is stopped and you’re on the ground and your face is pressed into the grass and you take a deep breath and push yourself up and try to take a step, but your right knee feels too lose, and a jolt of pain shoots up your body, and it  _hurts_ , and you let yourself sit back down, and then you lay back against the grass and put your arm over your eyes because you start to cry: you’re in a lot of pain; you’ve seen girls tear their ACLs before, and when Tenzin and Lin jog out onto the field and you sit up, Tenzin’s slumped shoulders give everything away.

“Hey,” Lin says and helps you sit up, “just breathe, okay?”

You take a few deep breaths—you hadn’t even realized you weren’t—and Lin is surprisingly gentle as she bends your leg a little bit. You take in a sharp breath, and Tenzin smooths his hand down your back.

“Sorry, kid,” Lin says, then pushes down your sock a little and runs her hand up and down your calf. “It’s just your knee, I think,” she says. “No broken bones, okay? So we’re just going to get off the field and into the locker room.”

You nod, and they help you to your feet and you hop to the edge of the field and get on the back of a golf cart that had been standing by. Your knee is already swollen a lot, and some of your teammates come and give you hugs.

You’re trying really, really hard not to cry again, and your head is spinning and you think you might throw up.

But you look up and spot Asami standing at the bottom of the bleachers, her hands clasped against her chest and her face in the prettiest expression of worry.

At least you have that, you think.

Things get a little hazy and you watch the sky until it turns into the cement ceiling of the locker room, and it’s dark.


	7. holding hands (while the walls come tumbling down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 7, or: everyone has really bad days sometimes

** holding hands (while the walls come tumbling down) **

.  
 _when they do i’ll be right behind you/ so glad we almost made it/ so sad they had to fade it/ everybody wants to rule the world  
_ —tears for fears, ‘everybody wants to rule the world’

//

You think your heart is seriously beating at a dangerously high rate at the moment, and you’re sick to your stomach. The rational part of your brain is going through  _Korra’s alive; Korra’s okay; it’s just her knee; she’s here she’s not going anywhere_ , but—you’re in love, and, really, Korra had been crying; Korra was in obvious pain; Korra— _your_ Korra—is  _hurt_.

You walk down to the edge of the bleachers and the game has started up again, so you kind of stand awkwardly—Korra’s coaches know that you’re dating, and obviously Korra’s parents aren’t here right now, and you know Tenzin is supportive of your relationship, at least, but you don’t really know the protocol in a situation like this.

Jinora comes to stand beside you and she waits for a few seconds and then says, “My dad texted me and he says you can go inside.”

“Really?”

Jinora smiles. “Of course. Someone will meet you at the door.”

You take a deep breath and say, “Okay.”

Jinora squeezes your arm gently and says, “Give her my love.”

You nod and make your way toward the entrance to the locker rooms, and, sure enough, there’s someone with an official badge on and everything, who leads you past a few doors and then opens one for you, and it smells kind of like sweat and soap and cleaner and laundry detergent, and your stomach is doing little disconcerting flips, but this is Korra and you can't cry—not right now, not when you know she needs you to be okay.

You swallow and compose yourself—you’re  _Asami Sato_ , you do this all the time—and walk further into the room, which has a number of padded tables and some medical supplies. It’s big and clean and you then you spot Korra half-sitting up, and you can tell she’s trying her best not to cry. She has one sock off but the other is still on her good leg, and she’s sweaty and there are a few grass stains on her jersey, and when she spots you she gives you such a brave smile you can’t breathe for a few moments.

“Hey,” she says, “sexy, huh?”

You shake your head and walk up next to the table, take her hand, kiss the top of her head. “Does it hurt?”

“Like a fucking  _bitch_.”

You frown and then her trainer bustles in from an adjoining room, looks you over once, and says, “I’m Lin.”

Korra raises her brows and waits for Lin to say something more, but she doesn’t, instead just turning to Korra’s knee.

“Uh,” you say, “I’m Asami, Korra’s girlfriend.”

She doesn’t look up. “I know.”

Korra’s snort of laughter turns into a quick gasp of pain, and she clamps down on your hand when Lin presses down on her knee a little bit.

“Sorry, kid,” she says and gently runs her hands over Korra’s shin and Korra’s breathing evens out.

“No problem,” Korra grits out, and Lin laughs a little.

“She’s tough, you know that?” she asks you.

You nod, and some very  _compromising_ scenarios flash through your head before you can stop them, and you’re pretty sure Korra sees the blush on your cheeks, because she looks a little happier. “Yeah, she’s amazing,” you say.

Lin nods, and then she puts one hand on Korra’s thigh and the other below her knee and starts to bend Korra’s leg a little bit, and Korra lays back against the pillow on the table with a quiet, “Oh,  _fuck_ ,” and you share a glance with Lin, who’s frowning.

“Okay, Korra, on a scale of one to ten, one being no pain and ten being excruciating pain, how much did that hurt?”

Korra takes a deep breath and then says, “A three?”

Lin raises a brow and says, “If Asami being here is making you want to be tough and lie to me, I’m pretty sure your white knuckled grip on her hand and the fact that your knee is the size of a coconut isn’t really worth the attempt.”

Korra sighs. “A six, probably.”

“That sounds better.”

Korra laughs a little, and Lin puts down her leg again.

“It’s your ACL, from what I can tell. We’ll get you to the hospital for an MRI though, okay?”

Korra nods and she tries to have a composed face about it, but then her chin quivers and she closes her eyes and starts to cry, and you physically ache for her, and you shush her a little bit and brush her bangs back.

Lin looks concerned for a second—more in the way that she doesn’t really know how to comfort well, and you’re pretty sure she’s glad you’re here, and you squeeze Korra’s hand a little and say, “Hey, hey.”

She looks up at you, and her eyes are so blue and big and young and  _scared._

“You know, we built the tools that they’ll use for your surgery, they’re really cool, actually. And—so many athletes make really great recoveries from ACL injuries, totally, Korra.”

She sniffles and nods a little, and then she very, very weakly asks, “What happens if I can’t play again?”

You do  _not_ get to be scared right now, you decide, and you shrug. “You get your degree and we keep falling in love and you’re Korra and I’m Asami and you’ll find a lot of things that you enjoy, and you’ll mean everything to me.”

You stares at you and then she says, “Really?”

You smile a little and nod. “Really, I can’t imagine my life without you, torn ACL or not.”

She lets out a big sigh and then says, “Okay.”

Lin nods once at you curtly and you run your hand through your hair and then help Korra sit up, and Lin gets her a pair of crutches. “Alright,” she says, “MRIs suck.”

//

MRIs really  _do_ suck, and you’re in a hospital gown, which is kinda scratchy and awkward, because, like, Asami sees you naked all the time, but no one else does—well, maybe Jinora, but that’s  _always_  on accident—and you also are hooked up to an IV, and your mouth tastes weird from the contrast stuff they’d made you drink, and you’re still sweaty and gross from your game because you haven’t gotten to shower—and your knee fucking  _hurts._

And the MRI is loud as shit, and you miss Asami holding your hand—which she’d done when you called your parents, which really, really sucked.

This whole thing really, really  _sucks_ , because you’re on scholarship and you’re not entirely sure how your contract works, and you barely can afford school and food and the occasional new sweater or pair of jeans with a full ride, and you’re going to have to pay for surgery and all of your other medical bills and—all you’ve ever done your entire life, really, is play soccer. You’ve been on the international radar since you were, like, seven, and you know, logically, that it’s not  _all_ that you are, but it’s a big part of you, of how you think of yourself, and you’ve kind of planned your future around playing professionally, so that’s your  _career_ , and it’s what you love more than, really, anything except for the people you care about, and—your knee fucking  _hurts._

You kind of jolt when you hear Asami’s voice over the microphone in the room once the MRI noise pauses, and she says, “Hey, Korra, hey, you gotta breathe, okay?”

Your head is kind of spinning, you realize, but you’d figured that was from the—obviously shitty—pain meds they’re pumping into your IV, and you sniffle and realize you’re crying—again—and your chest is moving up and down a little erratically. “Okay,” you say, and you clear your throat, because your voice sounds weak and you  _hate_ it.

“Awesome,” Asami says. “You’re almost done, just—stay still a little longer, okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, and you close your eyes and focus on how it feels to kiss Asami; Tenzin would be proud, you think, because you calm down pretty quickly and your breathing evens out.

After a little while, but not  _too_ long, you guess, the MRI stops and the tech comes into the room and helps you sit up on the little table and then into a wheelchair—which, gross.

Your IV tugs a little and you just  _really_ want a shower, and, really, it’d be great if all of this  _wasn’t_ happening, but when the tech pushes you out of the little room and Asami smiles sadly at you—it is happening.

She bends down and kisses you quickly, and she definitely wasn’t back in the little control center when you’d gone in for the test, so—“How’d you get back here?”

Asami shrugs. “I built the new pediatrics wing of this hospital, it turns out—well, I mean, I paid for it to be built—so I’ve a bit of impunity around here.”

Your head is  _really_ spinning now, and, okay, the meds might be kicking in, because you’re getting a little bit dizzy, but, “You build hospitals?”

Asami squeezes your shoulder gently as the tech wheels you back to a very nice and private room, which—that’s probably Asami too. “It’s a decent use of my money, I figure,” she says.

Your heart feels like five times too big for your chest and your emotions are doing a  _lot_ of things right now that you can’t really track, because you’re on pain meds and you’re really distraught and very scared but also really in love?

So there’s that.

You hop on your good leg up onto the bed and then a nurse comes into the room and talks very quickly to Asami, who nods and says a few things back, and then they walk over to you and Asami says, “I’m going to get a little food because I haven’t eaten in hours, but Linda can help you take a shower if you want to do that, okay?”

You pout. “Do I smell that bad?”

Asami laughs and puts her hands on either side of your face and tugs her toward you and kisses you  _hard_ for a second before she softens and swipes her tongue very gently against your bottom lip before backing up. “I’d kiss you for ages no matter what,” she says, then turns on her heel and waves over her shoulder.

Linda is laughing a little bit, and you think for a few seconds before you say, “She didn’t say no, did she?”

//

Korra’s definitely falling asleep when you get back—to be fair, you  _had_ grabbed a salad on your way back from consulting with the best orthopedic surgeon at the hospital about Korra’s surgery, the type of graft she was thinking of using, exactly where the incisions were going to be, how comfortable she was with the updated instruments—and Korra grins up at you when you tug a chair up beside her bed and open the lid on your salad.

“Can’t you eat some cake for me or something?”

You laugh around a bite and shake your head. “One of us has to be healthy.”

She frowns and you sigh.

“Come on, you’re going to do great. And Jinora just texted me that she and her dad are on their way, so that’ll be nice, right?”

Korra seems to seriously consider this, but then she nods. “Yeah, but—I’m falling asleep I think?”

You pat her hand. “That’s okay, you can sleep. I talked to your surgeon, she’s great, so don’t worry as much as you can.”

Her eyes are closing but you can tell she’s trying to keep them open, and she smiles up at you. “You’re going to rule the whole  _world_ one day, Asami Sato.”

You laugh and shake your head, lean forward and kiss her forehead. You eat your salad quietly while she sleeps, and you’re really, really sad and very worried, but her surgeon is one of the best in the world, and ACL repairs are extremely common surgeries, and so many people recover from them incredibly well—mathematically, these are great odds.

But it’s  _Korra_ —your girlfriend, your best friend, the person you love more than anyone else in the world—and you’re starting to learn that equations and solutions and proofs are kind of irrelevant with Korra, because there’s something intangible about her goodness, and you don’t want any of your logic to try to figure that out.

//

You try to stay awake when Tenzin comes to talk to you, because he’s saying really nice stuff, and you’re pretty sure he’s reassuring you about your scholarship, but you’re, like,  _really_  high, which you’re pretty sure you say, because Jinora snorts a laugh and sits on the side of your bed and tickles your stomach a little bit, and you think it’s quite possibly the funniest thing that’s ever happened.

Asami’s kind of quiet, but she smiles sometimes, and you wonder if she doesn’t like hospitals or something, but then apparently Tenzin and Jinora have to go, although they promise to be back tomorrow. It’s getting kind of dark out, and Asami sits down on your bed and runs her hand through your hair.

“You’re having surgery tomorrow,” she tells you—apparently a doctor had also been in to talk to you, but you’d fallen asleep about halfway through the conversation, which is fine—you trust Asami’s judgement in this scenario probably more than anyone else’s in the whole world, and she doesn’t seem too worried about this surgeon or the actual procedure itself.

“Mkay,” you say.

She smiles a little and kisses your forehead. “So I’m going to go home for the night, but I’ll be back in the morning before you go in, okay?”

You pout—you made a little silent rule to yourself that you’d only spend four nights out of the week at Asami’s apartment, but you always sleep way better with her in her bed, and this whole thing right now sucks.

She sighs. “Do you want me to stay?”

You nod, because, whatever, you really do want her to stay, probably forever and ever.

She looks resigned already but not particularly disappointed, which makes you feel floatier than you already do, and says, “Okay, I’ll stay.”

She helps you scoot over in bed and then climbs in on your good side, and you ask, “Will we get in trouble for this?”

She shakes her head with a little smirk and kisses you gently. “Nah, I’m Asami Sato, remember?”

You laugh and kiss her again and say, “I guess that has its perks every now and then.”

//

You’re about ready to throw something and you’ve never really been good with anything nearing real anxiety, but they let you sit you in the operating room observation deck, and you definitely aren’t a surgeon or anything, but you’ve been interested enough in synthetic and alternative tissues that you’re familiar with surgeries like ACL repairs since you were about sixteen.

Dr. Najambadi is excellent: she’s the head of orthopedics, and this is the number one teaching hospital in the world—which is part of why you’d gone to school here; the collaboration opportunities are incredible—but you’re still freaking out, because that’s Korra, and there are so many tiny things that could go wrong outside of anyone’s control, and you’re, like, definitionally, literally a genius, and you have a fortune at your disposal, but none of that would be enough if something detrimental happened.

Your panicked anger is not really your best trait—but you’re Asami Sato, and you  _hate_ not being in control.

And it kind of makes your entire body ache when they wheel Korra into the OR—you’d kissed her in pre-op and told her that you love her and that you’d see her soon; no goodbyes, and she’s on a fair amount of medication, so she really wasn’t worried at all—and transfer her onto the table. Everything’s set up and sterile and they get Korra situated and spread her arms a little, drape one leg, and then the anesthesiologist says something to Korra and she nods with a little brave smile. He pushes some medication into her IV and Korra’s big, pretty eyes flutter closed, and he leans her head back and inserts an intubation tube.

And that’s  _Korra_ , with a tube down her throat, and they finish with the sterile drapes, and they tape her eyes shut, and they put iodine on her knee and then her pretty skin is being cut open, and you want to cry.

But you’re Asami Sato, and this is by no means your first time holding back tears.

//

The surgeon tells you, probably for the fifth time or something, that everything went super great. You keep falling asleep and you don’t really remember too much of the past few hours other than that Tenzin made Asami go home to shower and eat and nap and that Jenna and a few of your other teammates had visited.

And that Jenna brought you cookies, because you were super hungry after not getting to eat for the past day because of surgery. They’re  _really good_ cookies, too, although you’re not surprised, because Jenna’s a great baker.

You might have also told her that you’d had a little crush on her when you’d started pre-season—who can blame you; she looks like Taylor Swift—and she’d laughed and patted your hand and thanked you. But she definitely has nothing to worry about, which you’d also probably said, because, well,  _Asami Sato loves you back._

When you wake up now you see Asami beside you, her feet propped up on your bed. She has a notebook open on her lap and she looks tired; she’s wearing her glasses and her hair is piled on top of her head and her sweater hangs off of one of her shoulders. Your knee is bandaged and there’s some ice on it at the moment and it’s getting dark outside, and it’s kind of weird because you’ve missed, like, a  _whole day._

“Asami,” you say, and she looks up with a smile.

“How are you feeling?”

“Kinda weird?”

She laughs quietly. “No pain though?”

“Nah, not really.”

“Good,” she says, then takes your hand.

“How are you?” you ask.

One of her brows shoots up. “How am I?”

“Yeah, you—you look tired.”

She shrugs. “I’m okay. I was just worried about you. Not because anything went wrong,” she quickly says, “but just because, you know, I love you.”

You tug on her hand and kiss the top of it. “I love you too.”

She sits back and takes her hair out of its bun, runs her hand through it a few times, and then lays her head down on your stomach and looks at you. “I don’t mean for this to sound unhealthy or codependent or anything, but I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You work out the little tangles in her hair and she closes her eyes. “I’m very glad you’re in my life, Asami Sato,” you say.

She smiles a little and turns to press a kiss clumsily over the blankets near your bellybutton. She sits up, but she doesn’t stop holding your hand. “You should get some sleep. I have it on good authority you get to go home tomorrow, by the way.”

You light up, because, really, you’d just slept the whole day, and the hospital bed is probably more comfortable than the one in your dorm, but Asami’s bed, well—“Can I go—do you mean home like your place?” you ask.

She blushes when she realizes what she’d said, and she nods. “Yeah, if that’s what you want. I mean, I’m sure Jinora’s fine with you in the dorm though if you’d rather—”

“No,” you say. “I want to be with you.”

Her smile is big and sweet and the smile she only gives you. She leans forward to kiss you and when you deepen it your heart rate monitor speeds up, and Asami laughs into your mouth and then glances up toward it.

“Dead giveaway,” you say.

She groans. “Terrible pun, Korra.”

You laugh into another kiss.

//

Korra’s intense look of concentration is really endearing in physical therapy, mostly considering the fact that she’s just focusing on straightening her leg. The swelling is going down well, and she’s wearing a brace, but really, she’s been okay. Surgery had been three days ago, and Dr. Najambadi is extremely pleased—and honestly unsurprised, because Korra is in incredible shape—with her progress so far. You’re standing in the doorway so Korra hasn’t seen you yet; you’d gotten out of your lab earlier than usual—your cultures are developing perfectly so you’d trusted your undergrad assistant for  _one day_ , which you really hope doesn’t backfire—and ridden over to the hospital.

Korra looks up after a few repetitions when you walk into the room, and she smiles. “Hey babe,” she says, and she reaches out her hand. She’s in running shoes and running shorts and a hoodie, and it’s all remarkably comforting, because you’re pretty sure she’s going to make a really great recovery.

“Hi,” you say, then step back.

“This is Asami,” Korra says, pointing to you, “my girlfriend. And Asami,” she says, then gestures to her physical therapist, a pretty woman probably in her fifties, with grey hair and green eyes and a nice smile, “this is my physical therapist, Su.”

Su shakes your hand and then says, “Korra’s doing really, really well. I think we’re going to try to stationary bike tomorrow.”

“Really?” Korra asks, and she looks  _thrilled_. Not moving really isn’t Korra’s thing, though, so it’s understandable.

Su nods with a laugh.

“That’s  _fantastic_ ,” Korra says, and she puts up her hand and you roll your eyes but give her a high five anyway.

“Well,” you say, “I was just stopping by on my way home, but I’ll see you later, okay?”

Korra nods and then fists her hand in your flannel and tugs you down for an excited kiss before you can leave, and you and Su laugh.

You wave on your way out, and Korra does finger guns in your direction. You smile and run into Jinora and Kai in the elevator, who are taking Korra out for pizza tonight because you have a conference call, and they both give you hugs, and, really—it’s not that bad a day, all things considered.

//

As far as everything goes, as much as tearing your ACL sucks ass—which it does—it’s not  _as bad_ as you’d feared, because physical therapy isn’t terrible, and it’s been ten days and you’re going to get to start walking a little bit kind of soon, and your crutches are kind of fun sometimes, even though your armpits are always sore.

But it’s the offseason, at least, and you still go to everything with your teammates, and as much as you hate just having to watch them play, they’re all really awesome people, and getting to spend time with them is nice anyway.

And  _last night_ , well.

Asami had gotten your very favorite Fire Nation food from her favorite place, and she’d had really, really good wine ready because you’ve been off your pain meds for a few days now, and, honestly, you’d been really horny for about a week, and you and Asami had been really careful of your knee—you’d kept your brace on, so it was kind of awkward—but it was a really, really good night.

You think Asami’s been a little better overall too, probably because the holidays are hard, you figure, because she doesn’t have any family, really, so that would be lonely. She’s been super great for you, though, and she’s laughing a little more, and you’re pretty sure she’s not drinking by herself or smoking as much, so that’s all super too.

You accept your mom’s Skype call and Jinora pokes your side while you wave, and your mom looks really concerned for a second before she sees you actually smiling—and, really, you’re not depressed or whatever. You’re still kind of worried, but Su and your doctors and even Lin are telling you that you’re making a very solid and timely recovery, and that it’ll be a long few months, but your swelling has gone down almost entirely and you got your stitches out this morning and you’re pretty certain you’re going to get to play again.

Your mom gets really happy when you tell her all of that—and when Jinora adds that you signed up to do some community volunteer work with a girl’s youth soccer program for the spring and summer. You had, and you’re pretty excited, because you do have a bit of extra time on your hands and they’re  _eight years old_ , which you think is probably going to be incredibly fun.

Plus, you like goofing around anyway, and it’s a way for you to see kids get excited about something that you love.

Your dad comes in from work a few minutes before you’re about to go.

“We’re sorry we couldn’t come visit you,” he says, and it’s more solemn than you’re used to wish your dad.

“It’s fine,” you say, “I understand.” And you do, because flights are so expensive and you all know your medical bills are going to be through the roof, so you don’t blame them. You glance at Jinora with a grin and bump her with your shoulder. “I have tons of awesome people here.”

They all smile and Jinora says, “She means  _Asami_.”

You blush even though you really try not to, and you shake your head. “Not  _only_ Asami,” you say.

Jinora rolls her eyes.

“I mean, really, like, everyone but Jinora.”

Jinora laughs and slaps you gently on the arm, and your parents really do look very relieved.

You talk to them for a little bit longer about their work and Naga and the rest of your family, and you tell them you love them and say goodbye. Asami has a late Sato Industries meeting today, so you go grab dinner with your friends at the dining hall, and Bolin laughs so hard at one of Opal’s jokes that milk comes out of his nose, and you think you’re pretty lucky.

//

You ride a few blocks slowly away from the Sato Industries office, mostly because you’re exhausted. There’s a pretty overlook by the river where you stop, though, and it’s late enough that you can feel okay if you relax a little bit.

Talking to your dad never goes particularly well, but today had been particularly terrible, so you pull out a new pack of cigarettes and light one, smoke it quickly, greedily, and then light a second and take slower, more languid drags.

It’s not that he says anything shitty to you, really, it’s that he doesn’t say  _anything_ to you other than something about business deals. It’s like you’re not his daughter anymore, which is what he’d told you when you’d gone to Republic City a few months ago— _I saw those pictures of you and_ that girl _, and from now on, you are only an employee of Sato Industries, nothing more; I’m only choosing to keep you on staff because you’re the best we have, and other people don’t deserve to be punished for your sickness._

You  _know_ he’s wrong—you’re a scientist; you  _know_ that there’s nothing wrong about you or your desire or your love, and more than anything you’re certain there’s absolutely nothing wrong about  _Korra_ , who’s so full of life, of passion and anger and sometimes sadness and sometimes fear but always so, so much bravery. She’s all brimming, rounded corners, strong muscles. She’s the most real thing you’ve ever known.

And right now, in this moment, it’s kind of like you don’t know what you can really offer her. Not that you doubt she loves you, because you know she does; but you’re sharp edges and shaking hands and so much smoke. Korra’s desire for motion is a running toward; yours will always be a trying to speed away, ghost bones and all.

Your father’s voice, gravelly and cold, runs through your head:  _Your mother would be ashamed._

You sniffle a little, and you  _hate_ when you cry, but no one is here to see you right now. You put out the butt of your cigarette on the bottom of your boot, take out the little plastic bag in your pocket and put it in there with the other six you’d already smoked—you might go through too many cigarettes, but you don’t  _litter_.

You’re on your favorite bike, the last one you built with your dad, and it rockets through your body when you pull out onto the road. But it’s not enough; you can’t go fast enough to feel real, so you drive a little while until you get to the busiest highway, and there are monsters that have been burned into your bones with gunshots and blood on your hands that will never be your own, and maybe there will never be any way for you to get better.

Maybe your dad is right: you have the Sato birthright, after all.

All of the taillights start to blur.

//

You get a call from an unknown number, and you’re surprised when it’s Zhu Li.

You’re just watching Gilmore Girls reruns with Jinora, and Asami hasn’t texted you and it’s late, but sometimes her meetings last a  _long_ time because of time differences and, well, running a multimillion dollar division of a company, so you hadn’t worried.

But apparently Zhu Li is Asami’s emergency contact, and apparently there are a lot of shattered parts of her bike on the highway, and apparently she’s on her way to the hospital.

And apparently Zhu Li has no idea if she’s hurt; how badly she’s hurt; if she’s going to be okay.

Your world bottoms out, and you press back tears when you get out some summary to Jinora.

She nods and wraps you up in a hug and calls Kai and you all pile in his car and start to make the short trip to the hospital.

You have so, so many people you love, but you don’t love anyone else like Asami, and she’s  _extraordinary_ , and you know you’re young and you know you haven’t really been together for that long, but you really, really want to spend the rest of your life with her, and you pray to every spirit you can remember, even if they might not exist.

You know she’s probably hurt, because you know she was going too fast, because she rides like she has something chasing her. You try to wipe away your tears.

All of the taillights start to blur.


	8. to see our names were written (on the wreck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter eight, or: asami has had better nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if there are any medical inaccuracies just roll with them bc they don't actually matter.
> 
> tw: a little blood, mention of injuries.

**to see our names were written (on the wreck)**

.

_that was the year i knew the panic was over/ yet since we found out/ that anything can happen/ baby, i’ll give you everything you need  
_ —ellie goulding, ‘anything could happen’

//

It takes you a moment to process that you’re on the ground, and then it takes you another moment to process the fact that you’re alive, which is briefly and profoundly strange, but then—you’re definitely alive, and you’re definitely on the ground.

You have a momentary flash of panic but then you realize you can basically feel your limbs and you sit up. From what you remember, the front end of a car had clipped your rear tire, and then apparently your bike had hit the median and you’d somehow flown over it, and now you’re sitting on a little patch of grass between cars rushing by on either side. 

So, that’s lucky.

And nothing really hurts too much, which is another plus, and you get to your feet a little unsteadily, pushing up with your right arm, but it’s not too bad. Your legs are a little shaky and things are kind of blurry and logically you know for sure that you’re in shock, and you take a few steps and peer over at the remnants of your bike, which is twisted, the front tire completely blown, the paint scraped off on the left side. Which definitely sucks. You’ve never crashed before really; when you were sixteen you laid a bike out on the track, but you were in a racing suit and you just had a few bruises.

So you’re kind of hoping this is the same thing, because Korra’s going to be _pissed_ , but maybe if it’s just a few bruises you can just say it was a little spill, and you have so many bikes she probably won’t notice if you ride a couple of different ones.

So you’re pretty stoked that your legs, at least, are working.

You just stand there for a second before a woman about ten years older than you, with _great_ curly hair, you think, climbs over the median and says, “Hey, my name is Rika, and I’m a surgeon at the hospital?”

You nod and her hands kind of flutter around you before she gently puts them on your biceps.

“You need to sit down.”

She doesn’t look scared or panicked, so that’s a good sign, but she does look concerned, so that’s not a _great_ sign. 

You don’t figure you should argue because there’s no point to stand up right now anyway, and you’re a little lightheaded. 

“What’s your name?” she asks while she helps you onto the grass.

“Asami Sato,” you say, and her brows raise for a second before a guy comes up behind her and says, “Babe, here,” and hands here what looks like a pretty clean t-shirt, which is kind of confusing. 

“Okay, Asami,” she says when she turns back to you, “I want you to just lie down and stay still for me.”

“Okay.”

She puts a gentle hand behind your back and helps you back onto the grass, but while you’re in the process of that, you glance at your left leg and see that your jeans are kind of shredded and there’s a decent amount of blood, and you start to feel a little lightheaded, because, yeah, Korra is _definitely_ going to notice that.

Rika gently pulls your goggles up and places them on your helmet, and then she unbuckles that but doesn’t take it off, only motions for the guy to come over. “This is James,” she says, “my boyfriend. He’s a doctor too, and you’re doing great, just keep staying still, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, because a little bit of your adrenaline is starting to wear off and you’re pretty sure you kind of fucked up.

Rika smiles a little and James kneels down next to Rika, kind of above your head and takes the t-shirt from her when she hands it back to him. 

“You scraped your chin just a little,” he says, which causes a vain and ridiculous jolt of panic through you, because you should probably care more about your leg and possibly other parts of your body than you do your chin, but you suddenly kind of recognize that your neck feels a little wet and sticky, and that’s _blood,_ so whatever—things are starting to feel a little weird. “I’m just going to hold this on there,” he says, gesturing with the t-shirt for a moment, “so that it stops bleeding.”

You nod a little bit and grimace when he presses down on the t-shirt and, okay, that hurts.

He says, “The paramedics are going to be any minute now to get you pain medication and they’ll take you to the hospital.”

“Awesome,” you say, because at this point, pain medication sounds great.

Rika shares a glance with James briefly and then says, “I’m just gonna bend your left arm up onto your chest, though, okay?”

You don’t really know why that would be a problem, so you sit up and look a little, and then you feel sick, because your elbow is at a really weird angle, and it _hurts_ , and your stomach lurches.

“Asami,” James says gently, “you’re going to be fine.”

You swallow and try not to cry, but then Rika gently takes your arm and folds your wrist across your stomach, and—“ _Fuck_.”

Rika gently rubs the top of your hand—which you _don’t feel_ —and you know you’re crying but you don’t care at this point, because it’s starting to sink in that you’re really hurt; you might have internal injuries or a brain bleed that hasn’t set in yet, and your hand is numb—and you have a very strange moment where you wonder what it’d have been like to die—but you _didn’t_ die; you get more time with Korra and your friends.

So there’s that.

An ambulance shows up and two paramedics bustle over to you with bags and a backboard and stretcher. 

Rika stands and speaks to them too briefly and quickly for you to process, because you’re starting to feel really sick and your vision is getting a little blurry, and then the paramedics kneel down on either side of you. One of them pats James on the shoulder and he says, “Hey, we’ll stay right here, we’re just gonna let the paramedics do their thing, okay?”

“Okay,” you say weakly, and you see all the blood on the t-shirt when he backs away, but paramedics start asking you questions, like what your name is and what hurts and what year it is—you know the answers to all of those, at least—and they put a bandage on your chin and put you in a neck brace and strap you to a backboard.

And then—you’re coherent enough that this is a little scary—they get out a pair of scissors and your first thought is, “ _Please_ don’t touch my hair.”

Jazmine, one of the paramedics, laughs a little and says, “We’re not, sweetheart. We just have to get your jacket off.”

“Oh,” you say, “yeah.”

The other paramedic, Shelby, undoes the zipper on your jacket and then starts cutting up the right sleeve, and when she catches you probably pouting—Korra thinks you’re super sexy in that jacket—she says, “Sorry, Asami.”

“I have more,” you say, and your voice is a little thick, but there’s no blood in your mouth and your breath sounds had been equal, so that’s probably still okay.

Once they get your right sleeve flayed open, they start an IV with what you assume are some fluids and also a little morphine, because everything starts to get fuzzier.

It isn’t enough to make you fall asleep—although you are starting to feel tired—but it’s helping to take the edge off, at least. Which is really good, turns out, because when Shelby starts cutting your left sleeve, she jostles your arm a little bit, and— _god_.

They both grimace for a second when they get it cut above your elbow, and when you turn as much as you can with your C-collar brace on, you see actual bones sticking out of your arm—and you _really_ fucked up. 

They try to situate it against your stomach as much as they can so that nothing moves a lot, and they press a little bit on your abdomen—nothing there hurts too much, which you know is a really good sign. Then they load you onto the stretcher and James helps them get you over the median to where the ambulance is parked on the shoulder of the highway.

The lights are kind of bright and very pretty, really, and you do some calculations to try and figure out the wavelengths, because they’re interesting colors. But then you’re inside the ambulance, staring at the harsh, bright ceiling, But you’re happy when James climbs in, and he has almost orange hair and really kind blue eyes, which are both strangely and inexplicably comforting.

He seems to know the paramedics, too, and you know they want to keep you awake and talking and alert, but you’re starting to feel really, really exhausted, most of which you hope is from the adrenaline draining out of you, but you’re not sure. 

“So—Asami Sato, huh?” James asks.

“Yeah,” you say, and your voice is small and weak and you try to clear your throat and not sound as terrified, because you’re going to be okay—you _have_ to be okay, because you have Korra now.

He takes your right hand gently while Jazmine takes your vitals and you speed down the highway. “You’re going to school here?”

“My PhD,” you say, “in biomedical engineering.”

“Pretty and smart,” he says, smiling kindly. 

You laugh a little.

He grins. “So—tell me the wild gossip about you and _Korra_.” For a moment you’re a little wary, but he squeezes your hand. “Just keep talking for me, okay?” 

You understand, so—“Well, she hates motorcycles.”

James laughs.

“So she’s gonna be mad.”

“I think she’s going to be glad you’re okay, though.”

“Yeah.” You sigh, and you really, really try to focus, because you know enough to know that it’s important you stay awake right now. “And, um, she’s funny and smart and obviously athletic. She’s from the South Pole, did you know that?”

“I did,” James says. “I’m a big fan of hers, actually.”

“Oh,” you say. “Uh, well then—we make chocolate chip pancakes every Sunday morning and she can make shapes out of them sometimes, and she eats whipped cream on hers.”

“That sounds fantastic.”

“We met because she was going into an empty lecture hall to take a nap and I was doing math between lectures to calm down.”

He laughs. “You sound like Rika—math to calm down.”

You’re about to say more but the ambulance comes to a stop and he says, “Alright, lots of stuff is about to happen at once, but I’ll stay in the room with you if you want.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” he says.

Jazmine and Shelby get you unloaded from the ambulance and there are already doctors waiting.

It’s all pretty bright when they wheel you into a trauma bay. They ask you a lot of questions that you’ve already answered, but you answer them again, and they all seemed pretty relieved, and after that, they get you into a hospital gown and then definitely give you some _real_ pain meds, because— _wow_.

You have some X-rays and once they see that your skull and vertebrae are seemingly okay, they take your helmet and neck brace off. Which is great, other than the fact that you can actually look at your arm now.

But then, quickly, you have a CT scan, and they tell you that you’re pretty lucky, because other than your arm and some skin abrasions to your chin and leg, you don’t have any other injuries, just some bruises here and there.

Which means—you’re not going to die, which is pretty fantastic and a little weird. But mostly just a huge relief, really.

Dr. Najambadi walks into your room, followed by a good looking doctor with slightly greying hair and a nice smile, even if he’s leering a little bit. 

“Hey Asami,” she says, and she’s calm and it’s nice.

“Hi.”

“So,” she says, “this is Dr. Gonzalez, and he’s our chief of plastic surgery, and you’re going to need a few stitches on your chin.”

You really want to cry, but you nod instead.

“While I’m prepping the OR for you he’ll put them in.”

“Okay,” you say, and you try to stop your chin from trembling, because that cannot possibly be helpful.

Dr. Najambadi smiles a little and then runs a gentle hand through your hair before pulling a computer monitor a bit closer to you and bringing up an X-ray, and then gestures to what you know are a few severe fractures.

She walks you through the details of your surgery, the materials she plans on using, how her biggest concern is blood flow and nerve function, and she’s pretty great, so you trust her, and she smooths your hair once more and then bustles out, and Dr. Gonzalez steps forward and readies a tray of instruments.

“So, Miss Sato, I am _fabulous_ with my hands, just so you know.”

You look at him for a moment because these meds are _hitting_ you right now, and you don’t really know what’s going on, but then he smiles and takes off the bandage the paramedics had put on your chin.

“I’m kidding,” he says. “Not actually—I do have great and valuable hands that are going to leave you with the smallest and neatest scar possible, but—not hitting on you.”

You breathe out a little in relief. “Okay, good.”

“Ouch,” he says, and holds a hand dramatically to his heart before you smile a little and he dabs some disinfectant onto your chin—which stings like _hell_ , and you wince before you can help it.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” you mumble.

“Sorry,” he says, then turns your head a little gently. “I can hit on you if you think it’ll help.”

He presses a tiny needle into your jaw once, and then a few more times, and, thankfully, things start to go numb.

“I have a girlfriend,” you say.

“Hot,” he says. 

You roll your eyes, which you guess you do so dramatically he sees, because as he’s cleaning out the cut he laughs. 

“Asami,” he says, “I’m kidding. I mean, you’re beautiful, I assume she is too, but—I just am trying to make this slightly less terrible for you.”

You sigh. “Yeah,” you mutter, “she’s hot.”

He grins and says, “‘At a girl.”

He preps for stitching and then says, “Sorry, but we’ll have to be quiet for a little bit.”

“Mkay,” you say. “Can I—can I fall asleep now?”

“You can,” he says.

“Cool,” you say, and you only have a little dread as you watch his hands get closer to what looks like halfway up your jaw—so, okay, you’d split more than just your _chin_ open, those liars, but you kind of start to float a little in and out of sleep anyway.

Maybe it’s poetic that you can see your bones and your skin has to be stitched back together, because you’re drifting but you’ve never felt this real before.

//

Zhu Li and Varrick meet you at the front door of the emergency room, and Zhu Li puts a calming hand on your shoulder and you feel Jinora relax just slightly behind you.

“She’s alive,” Zhu Li says, and you sniffle and nod, because that’s a good place to start, at least.

“Come on,” Varrick says, motioning toward a waiting room, and even he’s really subdued.

You’re a little shaky on your crutches, but you sit down and immediately Jinora’s gracefully in the chair beside you and she grabs your hand with a little squeeze.

“We don’t really know much,” Zhu Li continues, “only that was alert and stable when she came in, but I imagine we’ll find out more soon.”

“That’s good,” Jinora says. “Okay, Korra? That’s good.”

“Yeah,” you say, and you take a deep breath and sit back a little bit. 

You wait a few minutes and Kai and Varrick talk a little—you think to distract you; but Kai’s an engineering student so really you don’t know what they’re actually talking about other than that it reminds you of Asami.

But then someone in scrubs comes out into the waiting room and finds Zhu Li and then says, “You’re all here for Asami?”

You nod and, thankfully, Varrick says, “This is Korra, Asami’s girlfriend.”

The doctor smiles gently and sticks out her hand. “I’m Dr. Okoli,” she says as you shake it and get to your feet, balance quickly on your crutches. “So Asami’s scans are all really clean in terms of brain damage or internal bleeding, which is great and really lucky.”

Jinora rubs her hand along your back and then rests it there, and you let out a big, relieved breath. 

Dr. Okoli continues, “She has some abrasions on her left leg, and she split her chin open, but those are relatively minor. However, Asami did severely fracture her left elbow, and she’s going to need surgery to try to repair it.”

You close your eyes for a moment because you think you’re going to cry—a fractured elbow and some stitches and scrapes are things you can deal with, things that aren’t going to take her away from you. 

She goes through a few more things—mostly that Asami’s most likely going to make a good recovery—and then Jinora asks, “Can Korra see her?”

You look up hopefully, and you know that you’re not family, and you’re not even her emergency contact, but she doesn’t _have_ family, and you love her.

Dr. Okoli smiles and says, “Of course,” and you have a very brief moment of thankfulness that, at least in this second, you’re with really accepting people.

Jinora gives you a quick hug and tells you that they’ll see you soon in the surgical waiting room, and you nod against her hair.

“Thanks,” you say, “for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Jinora says simply, then looks to Kai. “And wish Asami our best.”

You nod and follow Dr. Okoli into the emergency room, and you’re kind of a ball of nervous energy right now, and you’re close to careening into someone’s bed, and Dr. Okoli stops you for a moment with a gentle smile and says, “Hey, she’s going to be okay. She’s got some cuts that you’ll see, and don’t look at her arm, but in the big picture, she’s lucky. And it’s not good for any of us if you’re—” she glances pointedly down at your leg—“ _more_ injured.”

You laugh just a little and follow less frantically, and you get to a private room where she knocks quickly and then opens the door.

Asami’s hooked up to a number of monitors, and she looks really small in that hospital bed. You can’t really see her face or her arm because a doctor is blocking your view, but then he scoots back a little and turns to you, and Asami's clouded eyes meet yours—and she _smiles_.

You can see her arm then, which— _nope_ —and then the stitches along her jaw and chin, and her left leg looks raw and painful.

She holds out her right arm to you a little, and you crutch yourself furiously to the side of her bed and take it.

“I’m so _mad_ at you,” you say, but it comes out weaker than you’d intended.

Her shoulders slump a little. “I’m sorry.”

You sigh and sit down in the chair next to the bed, and the doctor on Asami’s other side says, “She _is_ hot, Asami.”

You scowl at him. “ _What_?”

Asami laughs and he says, “I’m Dr. Gonzalez, and Asami was telling me about you—Korra, right?”

You squint at her, and she’s still smiling, and you say, “Yeah.”

“She told me you were hot—you are.”

Asami tries to turn her head toward you more directly but then she frowns when Dr. Gonzalez stills her. 

“You need four more stitches, don’t mess up my handiwork now.”

She pouts dramatically but stays still, and you ask, “Do you know what actually happened?”

“Oh yeah,” he says, deftly twirling his little silver instruments and tugging together some of Asami’s skin gently and precisely, and you feel a little better at this _tool_ helping your girlfriend. “Asami flew over a median, huh?”

“Yeah,” Asami mumbles. “ _But_ a car hit me first, so technically it wasn’t my fault.”

You take a deep breath because you kind of want to hit something, and you look at her arm again, which was a _mistake_ , because her _bones_ are sticking out—and you’re trying to think of something other than irate cursing to say, but then Asami squeezes your hand.

When you look to her her eyes are big and filling with tears and very, very green.

“I was so scared,” you say quietly, and she sniffles.

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

You shake your head, then take your free hand and smooth her hair, trace her eyebrow gently, and she sighs and closes her eyes. 

Dr. Gonzalez quietly puts a simple dressing over her stitches and says, “I’ll check on you tomorrow, Miss Sato.”

She smiles and blearily opens her eyes and says, “Thanks.”

He nods with a wink and she laughs a little, and he waves to you and then leaves the room.

“Korra,” she says, turning to you more now, and there are some scrapes on her nose and her left cheekbone, and they’re small and not really bad at all—but your stomach drops and your hands hurt. 

You kiss her cheek. “Yeah?”

“I can’t—I can’t feel my left hand.”

You force yourself _not_ to look at her arm again, because that’s not going to help either of you. “Dr. Najambadi fixed my knee right up, I’m sure your elbow won’t be that bad.”

She laughs sadly and says, “My tiny gay baby. I love you so much.”

You bite your bottom lip so you don’t laugh and you say, “I’m bisexual, first of all.”

She scoffs an, “I _know_ that.”

“But—I love you too. Even if I’m mad—I’m still mad at you.”

She sighs dramatically. “Kiss me please?”

You shake your head but you very gently lean down and kiss her as softly as you can, because she’s alive, because she’s yours, because she’s still here for you to love.

“Korra,” she says when you sit back up.

“Asami.”

She looks at you incredibly seriously and says, “I want you to be honest with me, okay?”

She’s, like, _really_ high, you’re pretty sure, so—“Sure thing.”

Her lower lip starts to tremble and she very solemnly asks, “Is my face hideous now?”

You bark a laugh but her chin actually trembles so you calm down quickly and shake your head. “No—you’re very beautiful.”

“You can tell me the truth.”

“Asami,” you say, then rub her cheek very softly. She leans into the touch. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

She actually starts to cry, and you wipe her cheeks as gently as you can, skipping over the little scrapes. 

She takes a deep breath, and then you hear a knock at the door and some doctors come in. 

They tell you they’re ready for Asami in the OR, and Dr. Najambadi gives you a hug and promises to do her very best, which is reassuring, because she’s a really super talented surgeon, apparently. Asami had trusted her with your knee, and you’re pretty sure that means Asami would trust her with just about anything.

“I’ll see you soon,” you tell Asami, and she nods.

“See you soon. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you say, and very softly kiss her.

She smiles into it, and you feel a little tingle down your spine, and you’ve never been more grateful for a kiss in your whole life.

//

Jinora is trying to get you to play Words for Friends on her phone with her, but you can’t really concentrate at all. First of all, it’s, like, 2:37 am, and Zhu Li and Varrick had gone home, and Kai is currently asleep, his head in Jinora’s lap. You’re pretty sure she’s had like four cups of coffee, which is the only way she can possibly still be awake. You’re still kind of amped up on adrenaline, and it’s starting to make you feel a little bit sick, but Asami’s been in surgery for like three hours, and it’s scary, so scary.

You’re debating whether or not it would be terrible girlfriend behavior to fall asleep when a doctor walks into the waiting room. She’s pretty and has hair you’re decently sure Asami would highly approve of, and she sits down next to you.   
“I’m Dr. Harada,” she says, “and I happened to be with Asami just after her accident, and I’m the resident on her case here, actually.”

You nod because—that’s lucky, you’re pretty sure. “I’m Korra,” you say, “Asami’s girlfriend. And this is Jinora, one of our best friends.”

Dr. Harada smiles at you both, and she says, “Asami did really well in surgery. We’re just finishing and closing her up. She has blood flow to her hand, so that’s a really good sign.”

You’re incredibly relieved, because, like, of course Asami’s hand not working is better than her _dying_ , but Asami’s an _artist_ ; she’s an inventor and a genius, but all of it is, you know, these really elegant designs. She has plans all over her apartment, carefully measured to-size blueprints; rough, beautiful sketches of so many things in various notebooks, on napkins. 

Plus, you’re kind of a really big fan of her left hand for a few other reasons, honestly. So that’s extra great.

“You can see her for a bit when we get her up to the Post-Surgical orthopedic unit, and I think, Korra, you’ll be able to stay for the night.”

“Awesome,” Jinora says, and pats your leg with a smile.

“So, yeah,” Dr. Harada says, “we have her personal effects, so we’ll grab those and then we can go up to her room. Sound good?”

You nod. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course,” she says, then waits for you to wake Kai up and get to your feet before she quickly goes behind the nurse’s station and grabs a bag of what you’re pretty sure are—were?—Asami’s clothes, and in her other hand she holds her helmet. You kind of have to stay on your feet, so you don’t pay too much attention yet, and you make your way to an elevator and then to the fifth floor, and then down a few hallways to a nice looking unit, you guess, and you think it might be the one you were in but you actually have no idea because you don’t remember your surgery, like, at _all_.

But then you’re in a room where Asami’s in a big hospital bed, and she has a huge black metal brace around most of her arm, bent at a right angle at her elbow, which is covered in clean, neat white bandages. Her leg is propped up a little, and it’s raw and there are a few bandages on it, and the scrapes on her face have darkened just a little bit, probably scabbing over. She’s in a hospital gown and there’s a little tube with oxygen under her nose, and her hair is smoothed back, and there are a lot of tubes and wires everywhere.

She’s asleep peacefully, and she’s so beautiful.

Dr. Harada points to where an IV is running into somewhere by Asami’s collarbone, and she says, “Just so you know and don’t get freaked out or anything, that’s called a central line, and it’s the same as an IV in your hand or arm or whatever, we just had trouble with her veins in her right hand, so this was safer and it’ll hurt less for her.”

You nod and Kai looks a little exhaustedly fascinated with everything, and Jinora tugs on his hand.

“It’s pretty late, so I’ll come talk to you about specifics tomorrow morning and stuff. Asami will probably just sleep tonight.”

“Okay,” you say, “thank you so much.”

She nods and waits by the doorway as Jinora kisses Asami’s forehead and then wraps you in a huge, gentle hug—and, really, Jinora gives the best hugs—and Kai follows with a little kiss to your cheek.

“We’ll bring you breakfast, Korra,” Kai s says, and you smile a little.

“I’ll see you then. And—thanks.”

“Sure thing, kid,” Jinora says with a little silly wink, and you roll your eyes with a grin and pull up a chair by Asami’s bed. She’s definitely really, _really_ asleep, which is fine, but you’re still a little amped up, especially since seeing Asami again, so you just study her a little bit.

But then you remember that you have her stuff, and it’s, like, 3 am, but you don’t really have anything else to do.

So you open the little bag Dr. Harada gave you, and you pull out Asami’s socks, which are purple with white polka dots on them, which is mostly just funny to you. And then her underwear, which is also funny because that means she’s not wearing any—and it’s the middle of the night; your emotions aren’t actually trustworthy at the moment.

And then you tug out her jeans, and you don’t really want to look at them, because there’s blood and a lot of rips on the right leg, and you start to feel sick, because then there are _pieces_ of her jacket, because apparently they’d had to cut it off of her.

It’s terrifying and you pick up her helmet from the floor and there’s a huge scratch along the left side where there’s no paint left. You start to cry a little, because it kind of hits you that if Asami hadn’t been wearing that, if Asami had landed a little bit differently, if Asami had been going faster, if Asami hadn’t been _taught_ how to crash when she learned how to ride—she could be dead. She could be dead and that would’ve been it, and you would’ve been nineteen and lost who you’re pretty sure might be the love of your life.

She could’ve left forever.

She could’ve died.

A sob fights its way out of your chest and you think you might have to go to the bathroom because you might throw up, and your hands are shaking. You put the helmet down and put all of her stuff back in the bag, and you stand and sit down gently on the edge of her bed, lean down and kiss her cheek. You have to feel her, have to make sure she’s really here, that she really stayed, that you have more time with her.

She stirs a little bit and crinkles her nose, and you back up. Her eyes open and she squints at you—it’s a little dark and they’d taken her contacts out; you make a mental note to text Jinora to stop by Asami’s so that she can get her glasses—and then she slurs, “Why are you crying?”

It’s the youngest you’ve ever heard her; careful, precise voice thick with medicine and sleep.

You laugh a little and shake your head, and she tries to lift her left arm but pouts kind of confused when she looks down and sees the brace. You squeeze her right hand and you say, “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

She sighs. “They didn’t hurt my hair?”

You can’t help but smile. “Your hair is great, baby.”

“I’m so _relieved_ ,” she says dramatically. “But—Korra? I’m falling asleep again.”

“That’s okay,” you say.

“You look like the sunshine and your eyes are like oceans,” she says.

You laugh. “Thanks.”

She hums. “Don’t cry again while I’m asleep.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Promise.”

“Good,” she whispers, and you play with her hair as she falls asleep.

You climb back in your chair and lay your head down on her stomach, and her breaths are even and deep, and you could argue with her—she’s the gentle waves of the ocean, and any absence of her would obliterate your world.

The little beeps from her heart rate monitor comfort you to sleep.


	9. everyone around here seems to be going down (you & me are the lucky ones this time)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 9, or: asami sato is a wild ride on pain meds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again if there are medical inaccuracies roll with them please the details of them don't really matter that much for the fic

everyone around here seems to be going down (you & me are the lucky ones this time)

_._

_every now & then the stars align / boy & girl meet by the great design / everybody told me love was blind / then i saw your face & you blew my mind / feels like falling in love for the first time  
_—lana del rey, ‘lucky ones’

//

When you wake up at 5:23 am because a nurse—Rachel—turns on the lights to check on Asami, you kind of remember that you have a team training thing at 6 am—or, really, that you’re supposed to have one, because you can’t  _actually_ participate anyway, but you always like to go. But not today, because—Asami had almost died; you’re sitting next to her in the hospital, and she’s still asleep. The sun is starting to come up and it’s gentle light compared to the fluorescents overhead, but you can see the painful bruise forming around the bandage over the stitches on her chin and jaw, and you can see the little bit of blood seeping through the thin layers of gauze on her leg, and you can see  _screws_  connecting the brace on her arm to, probably, her bones, piercing neatly through her skin.

She’s breathing evenly and her face is peaceful, though, and the little metallic ping of her heart rate monitor is incredibly—and continuously—comforting.

You yawn and then kind of exhaustedly run through what you should do; you probably need a change of clothes soon, and at some point Asami’s going to wake up and  _definitely_ want one; she’ll want her glasses and one of her tablets to keep her occupied. You have four days left of spring break, luckily, so you can stay with her mostly, but you’ve already missed a week of school and you kind of can’t handle missing more time this semester, and she’ll need someone to take care of her probably for at least a week after she gets out of the hospital, and—

You take a deep breath and run your hand along the soft inside of Asami’s right wrist, trace her veins. She sighs and turns her head a little toward you, then fights to open her eyes, because they flutter a few times before she finally gets the half-lidded and sort of focused.

“You’re blurry,” she slurs, and her voice is rough—she’d been intubated for a while yesterday, and her throat is sore, but that’s normal.

You smile a little and scoot closer. “You don’t have your contacts in.”

“Oh,” she says. “Is it the next day?”

“Uh—it’s Thursday morning.”

She takes a large dramatic breath in and then says, “Cool.”

You laugh a little as she puffs the breath out in a little rhythm, and you kiss the top of her hand.

Her eyes get teary all of a sudden, and you’re scared she’s in pain, but then she says, “The way your lips feel on my little hand is just so  _nice_.”

You grin and blow a raspberry on the top of it next, because she’s  _high_  and this sucks but you’re pretty sure at least she’s going to be entertaining.

“Put them on my lips.”

You roll your eyes but lean up and kiss her gently, and she kisses back, slow and sloppy and young. You break apart and press your forehead gently to hers, and she meets your gaze in a moment of clarity before her eyes flutter closed.

“I’m glad I didn’t die very much,” she says.

You sigh and back up, kiss the little scabbed scrape on the tip of her nose. “I’m so glad you didn’t die, Asami.”

She nods and swallows and then squeezes your hand. “I can’t stay awake.”

“That’s okay,” you say, and start tracing gently patterns against her scalp. “I’ll be here the next time you wake up.”

She nods and then falls asleep again, and you take out your phone and see it’s still early enough to call Jenna; if you’re not at training you know she’ll be worried something happened to you, and Jenna’s the best captain anyone could ever ask for, you think, so you don’t want that to happen.

“ _Hey Korra,_ ” she answers on the second ring, and you’re always amazed at how genuinely cheerful she sounds this early in the morning. Then again, Jenna is kind of amazing anyway—she’s a senior and she’s prelaw and  _really_ smart, and she always looks so  _pretty,_ even right after a seven mile tapered run; at team meetings she’s usually in heels and red lipstick and all of these super great, stylish and grownup clothes. She’s much preppier than Asami but they have the same kind of physical elegance and ease about them.

She’s also just super great to talk to about really anything. Before you’d publicly come out she’d talked to you over coffee about what it might be like but also how everyone on the team is in full support, and, really, any backlash you may have had you’ve not really noticed, because your program here is really, really amazing, and Jenna definitely has made sure that all of your teammates are understanding and accepting if they weren’t already—which you’re pretty sure wasn’t the case, but it’s nice anyway.

“Hi,” you say, and you probably sound tired or something, because she hums a little worriedly.

“ _Everything all right? Do you need a ride to training?_ ”

“No, no—I, um. Last night Asami wrecked her motorcycle, and she’s, like, relatively okay? She’s in the hospital and she has some stitches and she broke her arm really badly so she had surgery and she’s just generally kind of hurt but, you know, alive, so—”

“ _Korra_ ,” she says gently, “ _hey. I—well, what can I do to make things easier on you guys right now_?”

You take in a shaky breath and try to calm down a little, because you really need to. “Mostly—I can’t come to training this morning?”

“ _Of_ course,” she says. “ _I don’t expect you to be there. I’ll stop by afterward, okay?_ ”

“Yeah,” you say, “that’d be super.”

“ _Okay,_ ” she says, “ _I’m going to head out, but you call me if you need_ anything _in the meantime. I’ll have my phone with me and you know I can run a 5k faster than anyone else on this team_.”

You laugh a little bit and say, “Okay, thanks.”

“ _Sure. Take care, Korra._ ”

You hang up and take a deep breath, because you’re pretty sure Jinora probably told Tenzin, but you shoot him a basic text anyway.

You play with Asami’s hair for a little bit before you call your dad, because she and your mom care about Asami so much, and they need to know.

You tell her about what happened, and you cry, because there’s something about you dad that’s always been so, so close to you as a person, and he gets your mom and puts the two of them on speaker phone, and they’re kind and gentle and so, so loving, and they calm you down, ask really nice questions, tell you that it’s all going to be okay.

You look over at Asami—who, from the right side, doesn’t really look hurt very much at all—and they’re your parents, so when your dad tells you that you have a lifetime with her, you think it’s going to be long, and you try your best to believe him.

//

You wake up because you smell probably the best cookies of your life, you’re pretty sure.

You also feel, like, super floaty, and you look down at your leg, which is pretty gross, and then you try to flex the fingers on your left hand—and, thankfully, they move a teeny bit, even if you can’t feel them. But you’re sort of tingly all over, so you just try to think maybe it’s just that mostly.

You swallow a few times because your mouth tastes  _weird_ , and you don’t really have a solid sense of time, so you don’t really know how long you’ve been here, but it’s sunny, so it’s at least day time.

“Hey,” Korra says, and you turn your head toward her soft voice. She’s in a chair by your bed, and everything is blurry because you don’t have your contacts or your glasses, but probably because of your meds too. But you’re sure she’s the most beautiful she’s ever been anyway because she’s always more beautiful every day.

“Hi,” you try to say, but your throat hurts and apparently you whine or make a face or something enough so that Korra smile a little, and she moves to get out of her chair, but then Jenna—who has cookies? or smells like cookies?—stands up from where she was sitting beside Korra and pours you some water and sticks the straw in the little plastic cup.

“Hi Asami,” she says, and she pushes a button somewhere and your bed starts to, like,  _sit up_ all on its own, which is amazing, and you take a little sip of the water when she puts the straw to your lips, but then you’re  _really_ thirsty, so you drink as much as you can really fast, which makes Korra laugh a little.

You smile: you love making Korra laugh.

You slump back a little bit in bed and lick your lips, because they’re dry but you feel a lot better. You turn more toward Korra, which is apparently too fast, because your gown gets caught on a little tube going into your chest—a central line, you know, but it’s  _weird—_ and it hurts.

You start to cry really fast because you hate it, but Jenna calmly puts down her water and then situates your gown a little better.

“Thanks,” you say, and she nods with a smile and then sits down in the chair beside Korra, who’s rifling through what you’re pretty sure is one of her duffel bags, and after, like, a  _long_ time, she takes out your glasses case and hands it to Jenna, who stands again and opens it.

“Want these?” she asks, holding up your frames.

You nod and she hands them to you, and you poke yourself in your eye on the first try, because, like, you kind of can’t tell where anything actually  _is_ and also you’re  _not_ right-handed, but you get them on eventually, and Korra looks exhausted but she’s smiling warmly at you.

You look down at your arm again and there’s a huge brace and it’s screwed into your arm and you’re pretty sure you’re crying again, but mostly because that probably means your elbow’s going to be able to heal mostly, but Jenna looks kind of concerned, and then there’s a tin of pumpkin chocolate chip cookies in front of you, and you gasp, because—this is so great. So Great. “They’re vegan and gluten free,” she says. “I didn’t know if you had dietary limitations or anything. They’re my own recipe though, and totally organic.”

You smile up at Jenna and say, “ _Thank you_ ,” and she looks actually very touched, which makes you glad, although maybe she’s trying not to laugh. Whatever. You take a bite of the cookie and other than Korra it’s pretty much the best thing you’ve ever eaten in your whole existence.

You kind of zone out and mainly just focus on the cookies for a few minutes, and you know Korra and Jenna are laughing, but you don’t really know—or care—what they’re laughing about, but then you look down and the little tin is empty.

You pout but you hold it out for someone to take, and Jenna does.

You take another few large gulps of water through your straw, and then you say, “You’re the best person I have ever known.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Korra says, and you feel a little guilty, because Jenna is grinning and Korra looks mad, but you know she’s just kidding. You hold out your hand and she rolls her eyes but gets up and hops over to your bed once to plop down on the side and half-lay on it with her left leg propped up and her right dangling off, and you snuggle into her chest as much as you can.

Which isn’t a lot, really, because you can’t move very much. Or, really, you probably  _can_ , you’re just  _really_ comfy right now, and now you feel full and it’s great, and you turn and bury your face in Korra’s hoodie because it smells like her and you love it so much.

She laughs because you’re pretty sure you’re smelling her armpit, but it’s, like, deodorant, and she wears the men’s kind, you think, which smells surprisingly  _awesome_.

“So,” you say, “what’s happened today?”

You scoot a little so you can look at her, and you’d forgotten you had your glasses on, so they’re pretty smudged, but you can still see her okay.

“Well,” she says, “it’s, like, ten in the morning, first of all.”

You try to remember that.

“So Kai and Jinora brought me breakfast and hung out for a while before Jinora had to go to her meet, and Tenzin stopped by with Jenna. And Opal and Bolin brought you flowers.” She points toward a pretty vase of lilies, and you sniffle a little, because all of that’s so  _nice_. “So basically Jenna and I have just been hanging out a little. I’ll probably, like, shower and take a nap a little later at your place, but I’ll be back this evening.”

“You don’t have to,” you say.

Korra kisses the top of your head. “I was going to hang out with you anyway. You’re just more entertaining like this.”

“I think all I do is sleep.”

Korra looks over at Jenna, who raises a brow with a grin, and then she says, “Yeah, sweetheart. You can go back to sleep if you’re tired.”

“‘Kay,” you say. “See you soon, my tiny baby.”

//

Asami hadn’t  _just slept_ , and it’d kind of been a wild morning, because for about thirty minutes she talked to Jinora about how upset she was about the fact that she had had a catheter for a little while the day before, which was awkward.

But Jinora was, like always, a total trooper, and she’d even helped Asami up and out of bed and to the bathroom while you were getting some more coffee. Luckily, you’d gotten back in time to snap a picture of a slightly hunched and glaring Asami with a bun, in a hospital gown, clinging to her IV pole walking back to her bed—which really shouldn’t be that funny because she was obviously in pain and you love her—but still,  _Asami_.

You’d made her a Facebook a few months ago, mostly because you wanted to be able to tag her in group selfies from when you went out on double or triple dates with your friends, because they’re  _really cute_  selfies, but, like, getting to see  _In a relationship with Asami Sato_  makes your day each time. So you had wanted to update all of her friends—she has like over a thousand of them, and you don’t think she actually knows more than fifty, but she kind of accepts friend requests without even looking at them. You’re sure she knows how Facebook works but you’re also sure she probably really doesn't care, so there’s that.

But her “friends” deserve to know that she’s alive and relatively okay, at least comparatively, so you post the picture with a caption  _Up and about this morning!!!! :)_ and there’s already 87 likes, so you’re pretty sure she won’t be too mad when she sees it in a few days.

After Jinora and Kai left, Bolin and Opal stopped by, though, and Asami had laughed really, really hard at a terrible joke Bolin made, and then she’d cried when they’d told her the flowers Opal was carrying were for her—apparently she’d assumed they were for you, which is kind of sad when you really think about, but she loved them.

Then Asami had complained for a solid five minutes straight about the hospital breakfast—to be fair, it didn’t really look super—but then she’d pouted and you’d cut her pancakes for her and she’d eaten them clumsily with her right hand, and it had kind of hit you that she’s going to need a lot of help doing stuff for the next few months. Which isn’t bad, and mostly it’ll probably be funny, because she’s going to be stubborn about it and you kind of can’t wait to watch Asami very seriously try to work out how cut her food with one hand.

You’d both dozed a bit after that until Tenzin and Jenna stopped by; Tenzin was sweet because he really cares about you and all of your teammates as people, which means that he cares a lot about the people that are important to you all too, and he gave you the rest of the week off from training if you needed. 

Jenna had brought cookies—which is so sweet and so unsurprising, because Jenna is the best—and you’d both had one before Asami woke up again and had eaten the rest, which really was endearing, because she basically got crumbs everywhere.

And currently Asami is staring very intently at the two of you, which she’s been doing for at least half a minute, and you and Jenna are just kind of waiting for her to say something.

Which, finally, she does: “Jenna.”

You laugh and Jenna scoots a little closer and says, “Yeah?”

Asami takes a deep breath and she says, “Your—” she waves her hand around in Jenna’s general direction—“is just  _great_ and I love your makeup.”

Jenna glances down at her skirt and heels and sweater, and she’s wearing red lipstick; you don’t know how she manages to dress up all the time, but you think it’s totally great, because she kicks  _ass_ playing soccer, and she’s, like, the kind of really great feminist Asami is, because they’re super smart and fierce and then very pretty, and you really love seeing them do cool stuff that goes against stereotypes and stuff.

Jenna grins. “Thanks. You’ve great taste as well.”

Asami smiles but then she looks a little panicked, almost, and Jenna leans forward more, concerned. “I just realized a little bit that, well, I won’t be able to do things with my right hand very well.”

“What?”

“Like—my  _brows_ ,” Asami whispers, and she’s fighting tears again, and you really want to laugh, but she looks so  _sad_.

Jenna looks a little relieved, because there were some weird ways that sentence could’ve gone.

“And yours are just  _great_ , so great,” Asami says.

Jenna pats Asami’s shin and says, “Well, I’ll be happy to do yours for the next little bit while you can’t.”

Asami holds her hand to her chest. “Really?”

Jenna finally laughs because Asami’s beaming, and she says, “Of course.”

“Fuck,” Asami says, “thank you so much.”

You can’t help but let out a big laugh, because you’re exhausted and because Asami sounds so young, and it’s really magic, even if the circumstances suck.

She and Jenna go off on a tangent about brow techniques and contouring brushes and exact shades of MAC lipstick—you put on mascara sometimes when you dress up or have events or press conferences, but beyond that, you have no idea what they’re talking about—but Asami looks happy and Jenna is genuinely interested, so you just sit back.

You watch Asami move and talk and even propped up in a hospital bed with scrapes and bruises and a huge brace, without makeup, messy hair—she’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and sometimes you can’t believe she’s yours.

Sometimes you can’t believe that you have what you do. It’s not like you’d ever thought you wouldn’t find someone—because your parents are still really in love, and you’d kind of always thought you’d fall in love too eventually. Mako was great; he was kind and safe and gentle in the ways that mattered, but you started fighting over silly things all the time, and everything naturally ran its course, and you ended things on really good terms. And you had loved him, and you don’t regret anything with Mako; he taught you a lot and he was fun and treated you well.

But you’re  _in love_  with Asami. You’ve known it for a while, definitely, but not really like you do now. You don’t exactly when it happened—when Asami kissed you back under the street lamp; when you woke up the  morning after you’d had sex for the first time and she was doing some very complicated math on her tablet in a t-shirt and her glasses but hadn’t gotten out of bed, one of her hands tangled in your hair. Maybe it was when Asami wandered out of the bathroom that one morning in panties and a big t-shirt and a toothbrush dangling out of her mouth because she wanted to tell you something she’d remembered about geometry and soccer that she was afraid she’d forget.

Or when Asami held your hand really warmly before you went into surgery. Or when Asami kisses you after your practices—hard and with abandon—even though you’re sure you smell terrible. Or when you’d tried to give her a strip tease to Beyonce for Valentine’s Day and had kept laughing and then she’d stood up and told you to sit down and be quiet, and— _wow_.

Or that one time she dragged you to Whole Foods right after a really exhausting training session because she really wanted good craft beer with your burgers that night and she wanted to grab it and then get to stay at home, and you were in running shorts and socks and Adidas sandals and a hoodie, and she was in leggings and  _Birkenstocks_ and this ridiculously huge sweater, and she ended up kissing you in the bread aisle—“Just because.”

Or maybe it’s the way she sometimes, in very quiet moments—drunk, sober; in the morning, at night, during quick lunch dates—presses her forehead to yours and looks at you like you are and will forever be the most special thing. She makes you feel beautiful and strong.

She makes you feel sacred.

Your chest aches a little when you look up and she’s laughing with Jenna, and she’s very alive, and you know you’re young and you know you don’t have any idea, really, of what might happen in your lives—but you are really in love with Asami Sato.

You watch her sort of reverently look at a tube of lipstick, and you fall in love all over again.

//

Really, this is terrible.

You  _do_ want to take a shower—like, a lot—but never like this.

Your nurse, Shonda, who is probably forty-five and curvy and you think she’d probably give the best hugs, because she smells great, is nice and gentle though, at least, and thankfully Korra is at home napping and picking up some more stuff for you. But still.

Shonda asks you about school and Korra as she helps you out of your hospital gown carefully, and you’re already embarrassed about the state of your skin, and you really try not to cry again, because it feels like you’ve cried a lot today, even though you don’t really remember why.

Shonda smiles sweetly because you’re probably scowling or pouting or something, because this person you don’t know is seeing you  _naked_.

But she doesn’t seem either amazed or horrified, and she doesn’t really look very much. When you look down there are a lot more bruises than you’d expected because you’re not in, like, any pain.

She dunks a sponge in the little bucket of warm water she has on your table, and you cringe for a second before it touches your skin.

You sigh a little, though, because it actually feels good, and Shonda smiles a little bit.

“You’re, like, the second woman ever to see me naked,” you say.

Shonda lets out a big, super great laugh, but she doesn’t say anything else for a bit, but then she asks, “Is this feeling okay still?” when she helps you lift your left arm a little bit.

“It’s a little  _weird_ ,” you say, “but not bad?”

“Excellent,” she says, and then she helps you sit up more and puts some dry shampoo in her hands, and you kind of want to tell her to stop, because that’s  _really_ not good for your hair, but it’s also so greasy that you let her with a sigh.

And, whatever, it feels really nice, and you haven’t had someone wash your hair in a while—you’d washed Korra’s a few times in the bath, but usually you have very special protocol for your own.

But you hazily realize that you’re pretty hurt, and it’s kind of nice to have people taking care of you. It’s not something you’re used to.

Shonda hums a little and then finishes up and helps you into a fresh gown and—thankfully—some panties, which is kind of embarrassing that you need help, but you’d rather wear them than not. You have a CT scan soon, just to make sure everything is still okay, but you give her a little one armed hug in thanks—your arm is still really broken, and you can’t feel your hand, and your jaw stings sometimes—but you definitely smell way better.

//

When Asami comes back from her CT scan, she’s extra groggy. It’s starting to get dark, and she wakes up a little for dinner; she seems legitimately upset about the hospital food vegetarian option they deliver, but she ends up eating, like, four jellos anyway, which makes you smile, because she rambles on about linear algebra while trying to scrape the bottom of the little plastic container, which keeps sliding around her tray.

Dr. Harada comes to check on Asami and shows her the results of her scan—which are all pretty super, actually—and you both thank her.

You turn on a rerun of  _Arrested Development_ —one of your mutual favorites—and Asami sleepily laughs and makes a lot of jokes about never-nudes and how she blue herself, and you’re absentmindedly playing with the fingers of her left hand when she grins up at you with big, sleepy green eyes and says, “I can feel you.”

“What?”

“Touching my hand,” she says, glancing down. “Just a little, but—I feel your fingers.”

You’re so relieved and you have so many nice things to say, but—“ _Yeah_ you can, you seem to love them.”

She snorts a tired laugh and curls the fingers on her left hand a little bit in what you’re pretty sure is supposed to be a squeeze. You kiss her cheek and then walk—slowly and painfully and a little off-balance, but you’ve been given the go-ahead for basic walking, which is amazing—to the right side of the bed. She scoots over a little and you climb in as gently as you can. She turns her head toward you once you’re situated and you kiss her once, very softly, and she sighs.

You press your forehead to hers and trace the shell of her ear and then ghost your finger over the stitches on her jaw and chin, and her eyes flutter closed. They’ll scar, you know, and she’s probably really going to care, because she’s Asami.

“You’re so beautiful,” you say.

She smiles a little and says, “I love you.”

You kiss her cheek and lie down further on the pillow. “I love you too.”

She lets out a very big and dramatic yawn and rests her head on your shoulder. You kiss the top of her hair.

You have to get out of her bed ten minutes later, because it’s against, like, seven hospital regulations, apparently—but you’re pretty sure Shonda had seen you climb in, so they’re ten minutes more than you should’ve gotten.

You think about borrowed time and the future and how lucky you actually are, and you trace the lines on Asami’s palm.


	10. hey mama, won’t you come down (to the river,  to wait, to be)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 10, or: asami & senna have a little bonding time.

**hey mama, won’t you come down (to the river,  to wait, to be)**

.

 _wash my hair, like you wash my hair / for years & years / i’m going to wait / there’s a man that i know / & i think he loves me so / finally i’m going to wait  
_—sylvan esso, ‘come down’

//

You don’t really have any idea what she’s talking about, but Jinora is trying  _really_ hard not to laugh. She’s sitting cross-legged on the end of Asami’s bed, and Asami is in one of your university women’s soccer t-shirts and a pair of boxers—she’d insisted she get to wear something other than a hospital gown, and this is day four after her accident, so the nurses let her. She gets to go home tomorrow, and you’re actually really excited, because it turns out your mom has a little paid time off work, and when she’d offered to come up to help take care of Asami for a week while you went back to school and Asami stayed at home, you were super touched and super happy. Despite the fact that you’re pretty sure Asami will tell her something about sex, because on pain meds she talks about that a lot. Her dose is going down, so you just kind of hope that helps and she doesn’t say anything to explicit.

Right now, though, Asami is gesturing kind of wildly with her right hand and sitting up in bed—all of which are great signs, but Jinora is nodding and trying to hide a laugh with a cough.

Asami doesn’t seem to notice and continues what she’s been going on about for the past 42 minutes. “So  _then_ Alison is at this rehab facility and it’s like a role play exercise but not sex or whatever it’s in front of other people?”

Jinora says, “Mhm.”

“Okay, so Sarah is there too, and basically it’s like—Tat is playing Sarah who is pretending to be Alison who is roleplaying Donnie who is roleplaying Alison to Tat who is Sarah as Alison.”

Jinora raises a brow and then looks to you. “That’s actually perfectly described.”

“You’re  _kidding_ ,” you say, because there’s  _no way_ that could have actually happened on a show.

Asami says, “ _No_ , Korra, I wouldn’t joke about Orphan Black, like,  _ever_.”

Jinora nods seriously and turns back to Asami. Jinora watches it to, and you’re pretty sure she’s enjoying Asami’s synopsis of officially the world’s most confusing and convoluted show in the history of anything more than she has most of life lately.

“So then there’s an incident with someone falling into a table of glitter? Vic probably. Felix is there. I forget where Kira is, though. With Cal? Has Mrs. S shot people yet?”

Jinora can’t help but let out a hard laugh and grin and Asami glares for a second before breaking out into a really pretty smile, and Jinora leans forward and pats her leg. “It’s really impressive that you’ve remembered all of this.”

Asami looks legitimately bashful and it’s kind of your favorite things, because you’re pretty sure she  _probably_ made up this show and Jinora is just humoring her, but she’s adorable and beautiful and healing; she’s sitting up without much pain; a lot of feeling is coming back in her hand every day. She’s been holding on hard to a little red stress ball in a pretty powerful fist, and she’d played with your fingers this morning with a smile. She’s eating okay and going to the bathroom like she’s supposed to; the bruises on her face are fading a little; her leg is almost completely healed or scabbed over and you’re pretty sure she’ll be fine in sweatpants for the next week.

Sometimes you look at the IV line running into her chest or the stitches on the underside of her jaw and chin and your stomach swoops kind of painfully, but then usually she looks at you so warmly, so solidly, that you feel better.

Jinora keeps listening and answering Asami’s questions when she gets confused, and they’re smiling and laughing excited. There are a few sheets of paper with very, very confusing and probably incorrect linear algebra on them that Asami had insisted she do this morning; they’re almost illegible because she’d written with her right hand, but she’d been thrilled to do some math, which made you happy just to watch her.

She giggles and sits forward a little bit to slap Jinora’s knee lightly, and your chest aches a little bit in the best way—because you’ve both stayed, because you want to stay forever.

Because she is very, very alive.

//

You’d gotten your mom from the airport that morning—apparently Asami still had the capacity to summon a very large and fancy car even while high—and taken her to drop her suitcase off at the hotel Asami had gotten her a room at—Asami had insisted, and you’d be at Asami’s apartment at night, and, really, Asami only has one bed. Plus your mom loves hotels, so you don’t make a big deal out of it; Asami does honestly generous things all the time for so many people, so it doesn’t bother you much anymore, because she doesn’t ever really do anything without your permission. Plus, it makes her happy, you know, and you really love when Asami’s happy.

She’d hugged you really tightly in the airport, which was super wonderful, and she’d asked about your knee, like, four times. You’d shown her the little scar and how you were back to walking pretty well by now, and you’re pretty sure she’s worrying a lot less. And you make her laugh, which you’ve missed a ton.

After that you’d driven to the hospital, and right now you’re gathering Asami’s things into one of her totes and your mom is giving her a gentle hug—Asami had tried to formally shake her hand, which had made you roll your eyes with a laugh. You’d helped her get dressed early before you picked up your mom, and she leaned against you while you helped her tug on some sweatpants and then winked at you. It’s a little clumsy—and painful for Asami, you imagine—to get her arm with its brace through the sleeve of a t-shirt, but she hasn’t really complained.

Your mom is helping her into a wheelchair, which makes Asami pout, because she can walk just fine, really, but it’s hospital policy. You make sure to find all of Asami’s chargers and a lot of messily scrawled papers and put them in the bag, and when you look over at them, your mom is bending down to press a gentle kiss to the top of Asami’s head, and Asami’s eyes flutter closed as she smiles this tiny, gentle, sad thing. You want to hug both of them; you want to tell your mom a very profound  _thank you_ ; you want to tell Asami that you know it’s not the same thing, but she has family now. She has parents who are really proud of her.

You follow them out while your mom has a very stilted conversation with Asami about her hotel, because Asami keeps trying to turn around to smile at her, and even though this has been a really shitty, terrifying set of circumstances, seeing your mom—and seeing your mom with Asami—makes you think of forevers.

//

Really, all you’ve wanted to do for, like, four days, is take a bath. Or, really, a shower, but a bath is definitely easier, and it’s relaxing, because you have a super great bathtub that’s big and pretty comfy as far as those things go.

You know at this point that you’re kind of high, but you don’t really have a ton of control over what you say or what you’re worried about. Which is pretty much nothing at this moment, because the water is warm and you don’t really get to use soap because it’d sting your leg, but Senna had lit some of your favorite candles and turned the lights down a little bit, and she’s just humming softly in her chair next to you while you close your eyes for a bit.

Under not-high circumstances you might feel a little embarrassed at being naked in front of your  _girlfriend’s mother_ , but you’re really enjoying this bath way too much to worry about that. Plus, like, at least twenty people in the past week have seen you naked, so at this point it’s really not a huge deal. You’re used to it.

Even though you’re still sore and your left arm is in a garbage bag so that your brace and still-healing incisions don’t get wet, you’re certain that you’re about to fall asleep when Senna leans over and asks, “Can I wash your hair for you?”

It’s the best offer you’ve heard in your entire life, basically, so—“ _Yes please_.”

She laughs a little and she cups some water in her hands and carefully lets it run over the top of your head, but she’s careful not to get it in your eyes. She stands and walks toward your shelves of hair products and she clears her throat.

“There’s super cleansing lavender shampoo and coconut extract reparative conditioner, if you can find those, that’d be fantastic.”

She laughs and a few seconds later she’s back with the correct bottles and she squeezes some shampoo in her hands and then you sit up a little. She’s gentle and it feels really good—like,  _amazing_ , actually—when she softly massages your scalp.

Your heart tugs a little bit in your chest and you sigh and really try not to cry, because you think you’ve cried a lot lately, although you can’t really remember.

“My mom used to do this,” you say quietly.

She starts rinsing your hair gently. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “When I was small. It was nice.”

You don’t ever wonder where Korra gets her kindness from—you’ve Skyped with her parents a bunch of times—but you’re still glad when Senna doesn’t ask you anything. She just says, “You have beautiful hair.”

You smile a little. “I work hard on it.”

She laughs and works the conditioner through your hair patiently. It’s long and wavy and gets knotted if you’re not careful; when you were thirteen—after a particularly awkward year where you grew five inches, had to have braces, and hadn’t quite figured out how to de-frizz your hair or do your makeup or shape your brows—you’d finally gotten the hang of things. You love looking pretty for yourself, but it doesn’t really  _hurt_ that Korra thinks you’re pretty too.

“I don’t know if Korra’s told you but my mom died when I was six,” you say. “She—no one’s done this for me in a while.”

“I’m sorry,” Senna says quietly, and you can tell she’s being extra soft with you. 

You nod. “I’m glad you’re here.”

She smiles crookedly—like Korra does when you say something sad. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

You lean back carefully and she finishes rinsing your hair. It’s super nice, and she’s really good at it, and then you realize that you haven’t, like, touched up your undercut or plucked your brows or  _shaved_  in, like,  _five days_.

It sends a small jolt of panic through you, not because Korra cares at all but because  _you_ care for yourself, and you try to work through the logistics of shaving your legs with your right hand on pain meds, and even kind of foggy that sounds like a pretty terrible idea.

Anything involving a razor, really, at the moment.

Senna sits back and then you ask her, “Can we do more personal grooming?”

She laughs a little and stands to turn on the lights. “We have the whole day to hang out,” she says, “so absolutely.”

//

When you get home from physical therapy—which was  _exhausting_ today, even through it really shouldn’t be, because you’re still doing a lot of ab work and upper body fitness at regular training, so you’re not out of shape. But your leg still feels a little weird—mostly you’re just scared you’re going to hurt it, which Su assured you that you won’t as long as you follow her instructions, which you are. You love playing soccer and you want to get better, so you’re not going to try to do anything over-the-top that prevents you from getting  _actually_ better.

It’s getting warmer outside, and you’re glad you don’t have class until 11 am the next morning, and that Tenzin is only having one training session per day this week—because Asami hasn’t been home in a while, and you really can’t wait to have her asleep next to you. You think you want to fall asleep to her for the rest of your life.

You know you want to wake up next to her forever.

When you get back, she’s at the kitchen counter eating some scrambled eggs sort of clumsily with her left hand, and your is laughing as Asami tells a story about you between bites. She looks better; she’s in her own t-shirt and a pair of your sweatpants, and her hair is shiny and wavy and clean, swept over her shoulder; her undercut is neat, and she doesn’t have any makeup on, but you can tell the circles underneath her eyes are a little less.

You drop your stuff off in the foyer and your mom hops off her stool when you say a hello and walk into the kitchen. She starts putting eggs and some salad on a plate for you, and you smile and kiss a very happy Asami hello quickly. She smells like  _Asami_ —all lavender and still, just slightly, like smoke, which is probably just barely clinging to her t-shirt—and her mouth is warm and gentle and  _home_.

But still, you back up because your mom is there, and you laugh when Asami pouts. You sit down next to her and your mom puts down a plate of food in front of you, and you’ve really missed your mom’s cooking, because even the way her scrambled eggs taste is, like, way better than what you can make or get anywhere here.

Asami and your mom share a look when you start shoveling down some salad, and—“What? I’m hungry.”

Your mom laughs as Asami raises an eyebrow and says, “Obviously.”

You roll your eyes but sit back a little and ask, “So, what did you guys do today?”

Asami grins and bumps your elbow with her good one. “We had a personal grooming day!”

You squint at her and then your mom, because you’re a little unsure what ‘personal grooming’ actually  _entails_ , because Asami is—well,  _neat_  everywhere.

“We started with a bath,” Asami says, and you kind of want to laugh and cry at the same time, because your mom has now seen Asami completely naked, but—whatever. She smiles at your mom and then continues, “And even though we had to put a bag over my brace, it was  _amazing_  and we used my favorite shampoo and I finally got to exfoliate.”

Your mom smiles fondly at Asami and your heart feels really big.

But then—“So then, you know, I was just thinking and worrying kind of about how I hadn’t shaved in a  _long_ time, so we did that.”

You look at your mom because Asami has said a lot of really weird shit in the past week, but she just shrugs.

“Like— _everything_?”

Asami nods. “And! We just have to get a go-ahead from my Dr. Harada and then I’m totally ready for you to go do—”

“ _Asami_ ,” you say, just quick enough that she doesn’t finish that sentence, and you aren’t really sure if you or your mom’s face is redder at the moment, but Asami doesn’t really seem phased in the slightest.

You decide to just completely not continue this conversation because you’re going to need a little time to process everything, so instead you just ask your mom about what television they watched, because you’re sure Asami tried to probably show your mom all of her favorite episodes of  _The Office_.

Thankfully, Asami goes back to eating her dinner happily and silently, smiling airily every now and then, and you just eat as quickly as you can. You finish around the same time as Asami, who then clumsily hops off the stool and wraps your mom in a tight one-armed hug and sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Those were the  _best eggs_ I have ever eaten in a million years,” she says, and you laugh and direct her to the couch and turn on Netflix. She’s already kind of fading, you can tell, so you push her shoulder a little bit to get her to lean back, and when she tries to tug you down with her your swat at her hand gently with a laugh. “Let me go say goodbye to my mom, okay?”

“Oh,” she says, “of course.”

You smile and bend down to kiss her forehead, and you make sure she’s staying up before you go back and help your mom finish cleaning up; she didn’t grow up with a dishwasher, so you think she’s probably forgotten that Asami has one, because she’s doing the dishes by hand.

You grab a towel to help her dry and stand shoulder to shoulder. You’re not really  _tall_ but you’ve passed your mom by an inch or so, and it makes you feel strangely and profoundly  _older_ in that moment. Or maybe it’s because you’re in your girlfriend’s apartment, where you clearly spend a lot of time. Or maybe it’s because your girlfriend and your mom apparently get on famously.

“So,” you say, then clear your throat, “ _personal grooming_?”

Your mom shrugs. “It’s perfectly normal, Korra.”

You cough. “It’s not  _normal_ for my  _mother_ to have seen my girlfriend’s—well, you know,  _down there_.”

Your mom laughs and turns the sink off, hands you the last plate. “I’m a nurse, you know. It’s certainly not the first vagina I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh my fucking  _spirits_ ,” you mumble, because this is  _mortifying_. You almost drop the plate. “This is the  _weirdest_ situation I never could’ve imagined.”

Your mom laughs and shrugs. “Korra, really, honey, she’s pretty out of it, and she was happy I could help, and she’s much happier now. There’s a very large chance she won’t remember any of this, too.”

“Thank goodness,” you say, and put the plate into the cabinet.

Your mom puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “She’s  _wonderful_ , Korra, and if there’s anyone in the world who comes close to being good enough for you, I’m pretty sure it’s Asami.”

You smile softly and tug her into a hug. “Thank you for helping out this week.”

“That’s what family is for,” she says, and you sigh and squeeze her tighter.

//

You drop Senna off at the airport that morning, and you hug her as best you can with one arm. She kisses your cheek and you don’t cry because Korra is there and because you aren’t really ready yet to tell her how your mom really died, or just how much you miss her every day, even though it’s impossible to remember a lot about her.

You thank Senna and you promise to visit the South Pole with Korra in May after your term ends—which you’re really, really looking forward to, actually—and you make sure she has the best seat on one of your nicest airships back to her home.

Korra sighs and sniffles a little bit when you turn around and start walking back to your car, so you grab her hand and squeeze. She smiles and kisses you softly for a second before continuing to walk, tugging a little on your hand with a laugh.

You’re on far fewer pain meds now, although you’re still a little foggy, and you’d gotten the stitches along your jaw and chin out yesterday. There’s a pretty noticeable scar, and the vain part of you is a little horrified, but really, Korra had kissed it gently with a little smile, and so you know she doesn’t really care, and it’s not A Big Deal. So you don’t make it one either, and it feels really nice.

You’re the comfortable sort of quiet in the car on the way to campus, and Korra plays with the fingers on your right hand while you try your hardest to squeeze a stress ball as tightly as you can with your left. You’ve regained a fair amount of feeling but you’re still having trouble with movement. But you’ve been working hard with a physical therapist and an occupational therapist, because you  _really_ want to gain back as much function as possible; you’re an artist, really, even if your art is something that you build into clinical things: you can help people. You’re good at helping people.

Today you have a special lecture that you’re super excited about, because you get to give a live TED Talk about your current research but also more generally about women in STEM fields—specifically women of color or queer women, and you know you’re even privileged in your position because of your nationality and family and class, but it’s still important for you to get to talk on the subject, you think.

You’re less nervous than you normally would be—you’re good at speaking in front of a lot of people, but you still have some nerves usually—but you’re still taking some mild medication, so you figure it’s just that. You walk into the lecture hall and Korra kisses you good luck and goes to sit in the audience. You get your makeup touched up and go over a few specifics with the director and crew, and then you get ready with your mic clip and the remote for your powerpoint presentation. You have a few notes so that you can reference the diagrams you have up there—and while this really isn’t your most fashionable look, you’d managed. You’re in your favorite, best pair of black leather pants a simple black t-shirt, and you have the big scarf Korra had gotten you for your birthday on. You’d worn your favorite simple and  _killer_ black Louboutins, and all in all, for having been in a pretty serious motorcycle accident less than two weeks ago, you think you look pretty great.

You get to start rolling, though, and you end up dropping your notes, and you mutter a  _fuck_  as you go to pick them up, which gets caught on your mic. This is live, and you panic a little bit and mutter a  _shit, sorry_ , which gets picked up  _again_ , and you hear Korra’s genuine laugh amongst a few other people’s, and you take a deep breath and collect your notes before standing and composing yourself.

You’re Asami Sato, and you’ve come back from worse.

//

Your lecture had, despite the initial blip, gone quite well, and you’re just getting into bed with Korra, who you’re pretty sure had just masturbated in your bathroom for the past thirty minutes—which is great, you’re just exhausted and really sore and sex really isn’t the first thing on your mind at the moment, but it’s super nice to know she still apparently  _really_ wants to have sex with you.

You’re starting to doze a little when she comes out, face flushed and smiling hugely, and she hops on bed gently and kisses you hard but then softens it and lies down next to you. She smells like soap and fabric softener and deodorant and mint toothpaste and just  _Korra_ , and it’s your favorite smell in the world.

You have to sleep on your back, basically, because of your arm, so Korra snuggles into your side, rests her head on your chest.

You hum a little when she slips a warm hand underneath your tshirt and traces little patterns in your stomach softly.

“I’ve missed you,” she says.

You kiss the top of her head. “I’ve missed you too.”


	11. we were in screaming color (baby, like we stood a chance)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 11, or: sometimes thinking of the future isn't so bad.

**we were in screaming color (baby, like we stood a chance)**

.

 _twenty stitches in a hospital room / when you started crying baby, i did too / but when the sun came up i was looking at you / & i remember thinking / are we out of the woods yet?_  
—taylor swift, ‘out of the woods’

//

You turn away from the game for a second—Leticia is sitting down in the middle of the field picking dandelions, but Anmol is kicking ass today, so you figure they balance each other out at the moment, and, plus, they’re eight year old girls and no one even keeps score—to look over at Asami.

You’ve taken a little time this spring to volunteer at the local community center and coach a little team, and it’s been super. You get to jog around a little bit sometimes and you’re careful with your knee, but you get to be around soccer other than just training with your teammates, and, besides, you have the time, because they practice once a week on Wednesday evenings and then have short games on Saturday mornings. Asami—for all of her natural grace and athleticism, as it turns out, cannot play soccer to save her life, and when you’d tried to teach her one morning in November you’d ended up on the field laughing really hard, tugging her down to kiss you.

Also, she’s hurt, and the brace on her arm is huge and heavy and she’s still sore, even though it’s been about a month and she’s doing really well. She has almost full function back in her hand, which she’s really, really relieved by, and so are you. But, obviously, she can’t play at all, so when she comes with you to the games, so just sits with the parents. Today she’d brought a blanket, because it’s warm and lovely and sunny, and she’d taken off her (very not-punk) loafers and rolled up her jeans, walked barefoot through the grass. She’s wearing sunglasses and sometimes you’re struck by how effortlessly beautiful she is: tall and thin and strong, and lately she's been so good. Maybe it’s spring, maybe it’s that she’s sure your parents like her, maybe—a part of you really hopes—it’s because you’re good for her. You always, always try to be.

You’d lugged over a bag of soccer balls and started setting up some cones for them to run little warmup drills with, and Asami had spread out her blanket on the sidelines with the other parents. They all, like, adore her, which isn’t a surprise at all, because she’s kind and so smart and very polite. She knows all of their names and which kids are theirs; she even brings little gluten free snacks sometimes for after the game. Right now she’s laughing at something Helen—MacKenzie’s mom—said, head thrown back, black hair tumbling over her shoulders, smile bright. She’s bunched up her t-shirt a little at the shoulders, and one side of her scarf is falling off, and she nods and starts talking, gesturing with her right hand excitedly.

You’d been a little worried—you’re always kind of a little worried about this kind of stuff, partly because of Asami’s dad—that maybe the parents wouldn’t want her to be there, or that they wouldn’t want you coaching their kids. You don’t kiss Asami, and only sometimes do you hold hands, but it’s pretty clear you’re dating.

But none

Sometimes you can’t help but plan all sorts of things, even though you don’t tell her, because you’re so young and you don’t know how she’d react. But when you see her in moments like this, in places like this, or when you wake up and she’s picked up bagels and coffee while you were still asleep, or when she kisses you goodnight and curls up behind you, laces her fingers with yours—you think about getting an apartment together. You think about moving to Republic City after graduation, because you’re pretty sure they’ll offer you a contract and it’ll be way less travel for Asami with work. You think about proposals and weddings and how Asami would look in a white dress and how you’d  _definitely_ shove cake into her face at the reception. You think about building a house and maybe even adopting kids. It’s scary and exhilarating and lovely, and you don’t tell Asami because you don’t want to scare her.

But you’re pretty sure she feels the same way.

You’re pretty sure she wants forever with you too.

You smile softly when she catches your eye, and she shoots you a dorky thumbs up. You laugh and turn back to the game, which is over pretty soon. Which is good, because you’ve cheered for a solid half of it, and your throat is a little sore. The girls jog off the field and you give them all really big high fives. They’re sweaty and grass stained and smiling, and the parents make a little tunnel, and Asami grins after you give them a very enthusiastic  _Good Game!_ speech and hand out snacks.

You get them to help you gather up the balls and cones as a little bonus challenge while the parents are all packing up, and you hoist the bag over your shoulder and meet Asami, where she’s managed to kind of fold her blanket.

Her sunglasses are perched on the top of her head and she shakes her head at you with a little smile.

“What?” you ask, glance down. Your shoes are fine, and you don’t have any grass stains on your knees or anything; your shorts aren’t askew; your t-shirt and jacket are totally fine.

She looks around quickly and most of the parents are already trailing off to the parking lot, and then she surges forward and kisses you—not hard, not soft, but very fully.

You drop the bag from your shoulder and she drops the blanket, and you try to get as close as you can without hurting her arm. You lace your fingers in her hair and she runs her hand down your side to rest on your hip, and you surge up on your tip toes to kiss her harder.

“I am so in love with you,” she mumbles into your mouth.

It’s spring, and it’s sunny, and the grass is green and everything smells new and teaming. There are blooms everywhere.

//

The South Pole is  _cold_ , which you’d known to expect, but still—it’s  _cold_. Korra laughs as you bounce on the balls of your feet a little while you’re in line at the Festival, but whatever, you’re freezing. Plus, your arm  _hurts_ , because you’d just gotten your brace off, but you’d just started physical therapy to get range of motion back before you took a week off to come to Korra’s hometown after the end of the term.

So your  _summer_ vacation is not really summer.

You stuff your left hand in your pocket because your elbow aches, and you should’ve brought your sling with you, but you’ve been really happy to be able to sketch and paint and sculpt and build again, and cut your own food, and really, more than anything—to kiss Korra with nothing else in the way. To feel her body press up all along yours, to tangle your hands in her hair.

She squeezes your hand with a little laugh when it’s your turn to order food, and, honestly, you’re at a festival; there’s not a whole lot of food you really want, but you end up getting a hot chocolate and Korra orders cotton candy, which she eventually gets you to share with her by kind of shoving the whole thing in your face.

She’s beautiful, really really beautiful, and she’s at home in the snow, in a lighter jacket by far than your big parka. She’d laughed earlier at your scarf and gloves and beanie, but whatever; part of your head is shaved and you have shitty circulation, so it’s really not wimpy.

She leads you back through the crowd over to her parents, who are talking to some friends, apparently. Senna was happy to see you again, and you’d been apprehensive about Tonraq, just because he was very big and very intimidating and you have a really terrible track record with dads so far, but the second you’d cracked a joke about Korra and her eating habits, he’d given you a high five and ruffled your hair, and Korra had grinned, and you knew that he liked you too.

You’ve been here for a day, but really Korra’s just shown you around some of the icy tundra by her town, and you’d played a lot with Naga, which was wonderful. Korra seems younger here, laughing with even less care than she does at school. It makes you feel younger too—less hurt, less sad. Maybe it’s the cold, but you feel a little more alive.

You get introduced to a few more people—as Korra’s girlfriend, simply and without any fanfare, and no one even bats an eye; Korra’s culture is open and warm and don’t seem to care at all about her sexuality or coming out, and it’s kind of the best.

She excuses you after a few polite minutes of small talk and leads you by the hand to a Ferris wheel, and you wait in line for a few seconds while she tells you about one time when she was small and had gone ice fishing with her dad and had fallen a few times trying to get the fish to stay still after she caught it. She’s animated and lively and laughing and just so lovely, and once you sit down and get buckled in to your seat you lean over and kiss her.

It’s cheesy and silly and you’re on a Ferris wheel, for one, but you don’t really care about stuff like that anymore.

So you back up and say, “This is the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”

Korra smiles and her eyes crinkle softly. “Me too.”

You get to the top and she points out some landmarks, and the Southern Lights glimmer everywhere, and you feel them in the marrow of your ribs. You kiss her again, and you twirl slowly around a small world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short because i have real life happenings, but thursdays should be back to standard length.


	12. mother, look out through my eyes (look at what you made)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 12, or: they kind of both want forever, and asami tells korra everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: death mention, violence mention.

  
**mother, look out through my eyes (look at what you made)**

.

 _mother, do you remember how it all actually ends? it’s always unclear which set of hips is altar and which is sacrifice: they blur from the same place. it’s always unclear who loses with all those ghosts. how young of me to think the only smoke i could wish on was from birthday candles_  
—rough draft (candles)

//

It’s a beautiful autumn day, late September, and you’ve worked all goddamn summer to get your arm back into some kind of shape; it’ll never be where it was before the accident, and it aches when it rains. But—you can draw and build and definitely make Korra orgasm sufficiently, so.

And it would be, like, the most beautiful day ever—Korra had gotten back last night from an away game, tired and smiling and tan and strong after a summer of getting back in shape after her knee surgery. You’d both stayed at university for the most part after you’d gotten back from the South Pole, although you’d had to go back to Republic City for a few meetings.

But they were quick and Korra spent most nights at your apartment. You snuck into the nearby swimming pool at night; you had picnics and drank too much champagne at noon, fell asleep in the shade of elms and the breath of aspens; you watched the late night thunderstorms out of your big windows and rested your head on Korra’s chest while she slept.

You ached in this—what has been, so far, your finest season. You used to think you weren’t suited for summer: your eyes were too delicate a green, your skin too light, too easily burnt, your hair too dark and long. But then there was Korra—laughing, young, brilliant Korra, who smelled like salt sweat and gentle chlorine sting in the middle of the night, under the water. Until you couldn’t breathe. You’re twenty, and you wonder about all of the time you’d fleetingly thought of dying, so you’d gotten the pretty hurt of the Southern Lights etched into the skin above your ribs, biting and floating, and it bled and healed and left its mark.

Mostly: you spent a lot of time in evening, in underwear and t-shirts, having beer with Korra on your balcony, laughing and singing and dancing together, counting her kisses into the stars.

And now it’s autumn, and it’s crisp and lovely and Korra is as lively as ever. And, most days, you’re really happy; or—you  _were_ happy, and you  _would_ be if it weren’t for Korra following you down to the garage. She doesn’t have any shoes on, and she’d just woken up while you were on your way out the door, helmet in your hand, shrugging into your leather jacket.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she asks, coming to a stop a few feet behind where you’re uncovering one of your bikes.

You’ve not ridden since your accident, and you really miss it, and you’d finally gotten cleared by Dr. Najambadi yesterday at your checkup; you want to just feel the way everything moves when you’re in motion, the metal roaring underneath your body. You aren’t scared, because sometimes accidents happen and you don’t really remember it anyway, so you don’t have nightmares or flashbacks or anything. Plus, you don’t want to ride as fast or recklessly as you had, because your hands feel different now.

“I’m going on a quick morning ride,” you say, not stopping your motions. You don't look Korra in the eyes, though, as you pull your hair into a messy low ponytail and get your helmet ready.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Korra almost growls.

You pull on your helmet—you’d gotten a bigger one with a full-face visor and full protection for your jaw and chin, because your scar there still kind of hurts sometimes and mostly you just  _really_ do not want another one on your  _face_ if you can do anything about it.

You meet Korra’s glare. “Did you honestly think I’d never get on another bike again?”

She squints a little. “Well, yes?”

“Korra.”

“You could’ve  _died_ , Asami.”

You take a deep breath. “But I didn’t, and I was going too fast, and I wasn’t paying the kind of attention I should have. I’ve heard you say those things a million times.”

Korra clenches her jaw. “They’re  _true_.”

“Yeah,” you say, “so I’m just going to go the speed limit and pay attention. I ride motorcycles and drink scotch and smoke cigarettes, Korra, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Asami,” she says, and she’s quiet but you don’t think you’ve ever really heard Korra angry before now.

“Sorry, babe, this is the fucked up mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” you say, and then pull your gloves on quickly and straddle your bike.

Korra looks somewhere between crying and punching something, and you’re not really sure why you’re as pissed as you are at her for trying to stop you from doing something you love, even if it is potentially dangerous. It’s  _your_ decision.

“Don’t you  _dare_ drive out of here,” she says.

You shake your head a little bit and put down your visor, then rev your bike and squeeze the clutch. It feels beautiful underneath you, this comfort you’d grown up knowing, this power, and you make sure not to look at Korra’s face as you speed out of the garage.

If she’s yelling after you, you don’t hear it.

//

You’re about three blocks away when you realize that your arm isn’t quite ready—or maybe it’ll never really be ready—to handle a bike like this again, because it’s heavy and you can’t lean into turns like you want to, and you’re pretty sure your elbow is actually  _clicking_ , and the whole thing fucking pinches.

So, really, you’d probably pissed Korra off for  _weeks_  all for a stupid six block, relatively slow as hell ride. You sit in the garage for a little while after you’d parked, turned off, and covered your bike, taken off your helmet roughly in frustration. You cry a little bit, because you fuck things up so easily. Korra is so good; Korra makes you want to be better.

But sometimes you aren’t, you  _can't_ be, and you don’t really know what that means, but you kind of start to panic a little bit when you realize she could’ve left.

You could go up to your apartment right now, and Korra could be gone. Her things could be gone.

She could leave.

You quickly dry your tears and try to calm your breathing, hold your arm to your chest and take the elevator to your floor. The door is unlocked, and you take that as a good sign. When you walk in, at first you don't see Korra, and your stomach bottoms out a little bit, but then she walks out of the bathroom, drying her hair. She’s been crying, and instead of looking monumentally angry, she mainly looks relieved to see you.

“I am so fucking pissed off right now,” she says, flinging her towel down on your bed, “don’t even try to touch me.”

So—scratch that, she’s angry.

“Okay,” you say, then take off your boots and put your helmet on its shelf by the door, take off your jacket and hang it on its hook, then just stand there and wrap your arms around yourself.

Korra stares at you and you’re really glad she’s in a t-shirt and shorts, because if she was naked you’d be having A Situation right now, which wouldn’t be conducive to this moment at all.

“I’m sorry,” she ends up saying, which surprises you.

“What?”

Her shoulders slump. “I have no right to dictate what you do and don’t choose in your life. Because, you know, it’s your life. And your choices.”

“Korra,” you say.

“No,” she says, then takes a few steps closer. “I’m still angry at your choices sometimes, but I’m not angry at  _you_ , not really. And I was out of line earlier.”

You shake your head, because Korra is too good. Far, far too good. “I’m sorry,” you say, “for, just—I want to keep getting better because I feel better but sometimes I just—” you feel tears sting at your eyes again—“I don’t always know how.”

She shakes her head softly. “You rode safely today, right?”

You nod—you had.

“Then, that’s already better, okay?”

You take a deep, shaky breath and then let it out slowly. “I don’t ever mean to make you mad.”

“I know,” Korra says. “But sometimes it happens. That’s life.”

You nod, and you sigh when she finally wraps her arms around you in a tight hug.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” she says softly into your shoulder.

“Thank you for staying,” you whisper, and you can’t help but cry a little bit now.

You feel Korra’s hair tickle your cheek when she shakes her head. “I’m not going anywhere, the occasional questionable choices on your end or not.”

You back up a little bit with a messy laugh, and she kisses your cheek.

“To be honest I’m probably going to be mad at the bike thing forever, but I’m just scared. I can’t—I don’t want to lose you. But I trust you to be safe, okay? I trust you.”

You nod, and she kisses your cheek.

“I am still a little mad at the moment,” she clarifies with an amused little smile, “but do you want to go get breakfast?”

“Yeah,” you say, “I’d like that a lot.”

“Cool,” she says. “Let me put shoes on and then we can go.”

You smile and tug your boots back on while she puts her hair in a messy, damp braid and then tugs on a university women’s soccer jacket and TOMS. She bumps into your side after you lock the door and head toward the elevator, and she laces your fingers together.

“Why’d you come back so soon?” she asks.

“My arm hurt like a bitch,” you admit a little sadly.

Korra tries really hard not to grin, but she fails.

“Korra,” you say, “I am in  _pain_.”

“I know,” she says, “I know.” She doesn’t stop smiling. “I’m not—you don’t  _deserve_ to be in pain, Asami, I just—I’m so sorry, babe, for your robot elbow’s pain.”

You try not to laugh, because— _honestly_ , but you end up rolling your eyes and laughing anyway. Korra places a little kiss very gently on your jaw and you walk to your favorite brunch place. It’s sunny and Korra smells like shampoo and the air is drowning in absolution everywhere, leaves turning, fluttering, landing without a sound.

//

Your semifinal match is exhausting, and for a brief moment you’re terrified you’re going to get a red card, because you’d gotten a yellow earlier in the game—the girl you’re playing against is dirty as fuck, and a lack of impulse control is what makes you a talented player, but it can also occasionally bite you on the ass, and it’s the biggest thing Tenzin says you need to work on, which is a valid point. You didn’t slide with your studs up or anything, and you got the ball along with a tangle of limbs and your opponent sprawled out on the ground, and you’re pretty sure the only reason you don’t get thrown out is because you’ve learned at this point to suck up your anger and shake the hand of the girl you just nailed to the ground. Which you do, and, although the ref gives you a warning glare, he seems appeased with your gesture of peace.

And—you scored in the 71st minute, which was the only—and game winning—goal of the match, which was amazing. You know you’re only a sophomore, but you’re pretty sure you’re going to get some amazing offers starting next year to go pro; you’ll finish out your four years in university, you’ve decided already, because you like school and you really value your education, but it’s really, really exciting to think about anyway.

You take your shower and change your clothes after the game, congratulate your teammates again, and then you go sit down for a short press conference. The reporters all ask pretty standard questions, and you don’t really notice anything out of the ordinary. Sometimes you’ll get the occasional question about visibility for queer women, and usually they’re from LGBTQIA+ groups just wanting to thank you for your openness, so you kind of like those. But tonight no one really asks any of those questions, it’s all just stuff about the game. Those are easy to answer, and you don’t mind them, and it’s a pretty quick conference. Afterward, you go outside and Asami is sitting with Amy’s boyfriend, talking animatedly about what you can guess is probably mechanics of some sort.

But when she sees you, she stands up with a big smile and walks over to you. You’re becoming more and more high profile a player, so she always waits for you to kiss her.

But you do, because you’re young, because you’re talented, because your future is brighter than camera flashes and your eyes are closed and you just feel her mouth, her sure hands; if anyone is frowning, you’d never notice.

//

Asami is  _really_ hard to shop for, and Jinora really isn’t helping by suggesting you make coupons for sex, but whatever, it’s her Jinora Time, and your room smells heady and sweet, and Jinora has eaten like four bags of chips at this point, so maybe she’ll be more helpful tomorrow.

Asami isn’t being helpful either; you’d saved a little money—not much, but enough to get her something pretty nice—but she kind of refuses to even make suggestions. And you know it’s not about gifts or money or anything, but you want to get her something she can look at and think of you with her little  _Korra_ smile.

But whatever, you’ll figure something out. It’s Asami, and you’d celebrated your one year anniversary at the beginning of the month with chocolate cake and a  _lot_ of sex of kind of all types. And you hadn’t gotten presents as a deal, although Asami gives you stuff all the time. Mostly they’re prototypes of things she’d tinkered with for fun or to clear her head, and you do give her legitimate feedback on stuff, so you don’t mind them. You're fairly certain at this point that Asami really isn’t trying to win your favor or taking pity on you when she gives you random little electronic devices, and she hasn’t given you anything else really expensive, so it’s not a big deal.

But you’re kind of figuring out she doesn’t like November, and she really doesn't like her birthday. You figure she’s probably getting drunk right now, because her texts are a little sporadic. Sometimes you spend Friday nights with her, but during the season you usually you spend them in your dorm with Jinora—it’s fun to see Jinora stoned, but also when you have Saturday games you need a good night’s sleep without exhaustive sex the night before, which isn’t usually conducive to staying over at Asami’s.

However, your season is over now—you lost in the championship game in penalty kicks, and you were upset for about a day, but everyone played super well and sometimes you get unlucky in stuff like that. But no one got hurt and you still got seen by just about every pro coach in the world, so that was cool too. Plus, now you can spend weekends at Asami’s, which is never a bad thing.

Jinora smiles slowly at you and says, “Wanna go get some breakfast?”

You laugh and shrug—you’re not hungry, but you’ll have hot chocolate or something—and text Asami in case she wants to meet you.

 **Korra (8:27 pm):**   _Hey baby, sooooo Jinora is high and she wants breakfast, wanna come? :)_

 **Asami <3 (8:28 pm):**  _lol sure, now?_

 **Korra (8:28 pm):**   _Yeah, meet us at the diner by our dorms_

 **Korra (8:29 pm):**   _Whenever you get there is fine :) I’ll save ya a seat_

 **Asami <3 (8:30 pm): ** _okay :) i’ll take off now  
  
_ **Asami <3 (8:30 pm):**  _also sorry i’ve had like two beers sorry sorry_

 **Korra (8:30 pm):**   _Lol it’s okay, I can come over later and we’ll snuggle and stuff :)_

 **Asami <3 (8:30 pm):**  _i’d like that very much_

 **Asami <3 (8:32 pm)**:  _also i love you_

//

Breakfast at 8:37 pm with Jinora is always one of your favorite things in the week. She smokes one joint every Friday night—it’s scheduled, so you’re not really sure if that counts as “relaxing” or not, but she’s really funny and chill, so it’s great.

You talk about pretty much whatever conversation topic Jinora decides on, which tonight is mainly quoting Parks & Recreation, which Asami can, surprisingly, do extremely well. It’s cute, because her cheeks are a little pink and she sounds younger, her words a little less clipped, textured with a slight Fire Nation accent. She’s lovely all the time, but when Asami is tipsy and happy, she’s almost too stunning; sometimes you’re blown away by how beautiful she is. How young she is, because sometimes you forget: Asami is quiet and serious a lot of the time, pensive and a little sad. She moves gracefully pretty much all the time; she has sex like each time the world might end and it’s the last thing she has to say she loves you. The magnitude of her scares you on occasion, when you really think of her, how much power she has, how much power she’s bound to inherit. Sometimes you look at her and you have to remember that she’s a twenty year old girl; she’s slight and all sinewy muscle and gentle curves, small juts of bone. When your hands wander along her body in the night while she’s asleep, you trace the little dimples in her back, the ridges of her hips, the patterns of her ribs. Her tattoos are smooth but sometimes you can just barely feel a few notches of scarred tissue, where a needle had pressed just a little too hard into her smooth skin to prevent from a textured evidence. You take your finger and trace her eyelashes, her nose, the shell of her ear. You’re not so great with words, and the way you learn her is with the pads of your hands, callused and as gentle as you can be. She is small when she’s asleep, younger than she ever is when she’s awake. Sometimes if she’s on her side you can find the smooth, rough skin on her elbow where she’d been cut apart to heal her bones. Her spine is straight and strong, patterned and lovely. She has a birthmark on her right shoulder blade, a blotched dark small thing, a facsimile of the moon in a sea of pale skin.

You aren’t really sure what it all means, the weight of her on top of you when she’s kissing you with her eyes closed, or her strong, thin arms around you. Her sadness and the unexpectedly loud boom of her laugh.

You think you know, though, most days: you are in love with a girl, all of her, and she is in love with you back, and you want that to last your whole life.

//

Jinora eats a huge stack of pancakes and you and Asami walk her back to your room, laughing as she struggles to use the edge of the sidewalk as a balance beam, and once you make sure she’s in your room safely, you and Asami head back to her apartment.

You’d left your jacket inside, and, although Asami is kind of always a little cold, she shrugs out of her leather one and puts it around your shoulders when a small shiver runs through you. You toll your eyes but squeeze her hand in thanks, and she smiles at you gently.

When you get back to her place, she opens a bottle of scotch, which you don’t really like, but you have the whole weekend off, and Asami offers you beer and wine too, but you figure you can have an actual drink with her now.

She kisses your cheek when she hands you the glass, sitting down next to you on the couch and leaning back into your chest when you put an arm around her shoulders.

You just sit in comfortable silence for a while; something soft is playing from her speakers, but you don’t recognize it. You’re starting to get a little warm and your head is starting to swim a little from the scotch—you’re almost done with your glass, and you think Asami has had, like, two, but you aren’t paying too much attention. She’s not alone tonight, and nothing bad is going to happen to her while you’re here.

After a few more minutes, she sits up with a little sigh. “My mom was murdered,” she says, very softly, and you kind of have absolutely no idea what to do in that moment.

“Asami, I—”

She shakes her head but she lets you take her hand. She takes a gulp of scotch and continues, staring at her hands, “My father was away on business, and we were home at night, and someone tried to rob our house.”

She says it in a detached way, which you’re pretty sure is a symptom of PTSD—you’d been paying close attention in your Intro to Psych class, because you know you can’t diagnose Asami with anything at all, but maybe you can learn more to help her with stuff anyway.

She continues, “My mom heard them, apparently, so she woke me up and told me to get under her bed. So, I did, and then they came into the room and I don’t think it was supposed to happen, but they were yelling and then I heard gunshots.”

You feel sick, and you think you might be shaking, but you aren’t sure.

“And then I closed my eyes, and I waited until I was pretty sure I heard them leave. And I crawled out from under the bed and my mom—there was a lot of blood and she wasn’t moving or anything, and I tried—” Her breath hitches and she shakes her head and steadies herself—“I tried to put my hands on the bullet holes, but—her heart just stopped. I felt it stop.”

“Fuck,” you mumble, because you don’t know what else  _at all_.

She sniffles. “At some point in there I called 911 and cops and paramedics showed up, and I don’t remember much else. I don’t really remember what happened, actually, but I know from reports and stuff.”

She finally turns her head up and looks at you.

“I’m not—I saw a lot of psychiatrists when I was younger; my dad made sure that I was, you know, as okay as I could be after something like that. And I am, I mean—I have nightmares sometimes, but I’m not, like, a serial killer or anything and I just—I’ve never really told anyone before, but I thought you should know because—you’re you.”

“I—I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, and her face falls a little. “But—not like that, Asami, just, like—fuck, I am  _so_ sorry for you.”

She nods a little.

“Hey,” you say, then take a little strand of hair and tuck it behind her ear, and she looks at you, and for the first time you understand why her eyes are sometimes so haunted, so old. “I love you.”

She sighs and closes her eyes before kissing you achingly, quickly, then resting her forehead against yours.

“That’s why I hate my birthday,” she says. “It just reminds me of everything.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” you say, and Asami bursts out into a little bit of laughter, which makes you smile.

She takes a deep breath and then straightens up. “Also, that’s, um—it’s why I like hearts,” she says quietly. “I like to build ones that work, and I like kids because, you know, I didn’t—my childhood was—fixing hearts for them is one of my favorite things. It’s, like, healing, I guess.”

You shake your head a little. “You’re incredible.”

She shrugs and leans forward to pour herself more scotch. “Sorry, I’m going to drink a significant amount tonight,” she says, and you laugh a little. “But feel free to stop whenever you want. I got Cheetos today, by the way—they’re in your cabinet.”

You kiss the top of her head when you stand to go to the kitchen—Asami’s kitchen is mainly ridiculous things like rice cakes and quinoa and dried apricots if she has anything other than dishes and cookware in the cabinets, but there’s one full of snacks for you. The best snacks, too, your favorites. You grab the bag of Cheetos and a bag of gummy worms she’d gotten today too, and you walk back to the couch and plop down next to Asami.

“Can we take a lot of hungover naps tomorrow?”

She laughs. “That was my plan anyway.”

“Well then,” you say, and pop a Cheeto into your mouth, “I think I deserve another drink after all of this too.”

She grins and pours you more. Later you fall asleep, and you think she mumbles something like, “Thank you for staying,” and it sounds sort of like a heady, gentle dream.

**Author's Note:**

> find me & more updates at possibilistfanfiction.tumblr.com. track [#korrasami uni au] 
> 
> THIS STORY WILL UPDATE EVERY MONDAY & THURSDAY.


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